


Ice Prince

by complicationstoo



Series: Ice Prince [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Fluff, Hockey Player!Steve Rogers, Insecure Tony Stark, M/M, Pining Steve Rogers, Pining Tony Stark, Rom Com References, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Team Captain Steve Rogers, Team Owner Tony Stark, like a lot of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21734173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/complicationstoo/pseuds/complicationstoo
Summary: Tony Stark bought a hockey team on a whim, having never watched the sport in his life. He decides to take a hands-on approach to being a team owner and starts spending time with team captain Steve Rogers. "Hands-on approach" soon becomes very literal.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Ice Prince [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592455
Comments: 155
Kudos: 455





	1. An Impulse Buy

**Author's Note:**

> The hockey player AU that no one wanted but I needed to write!

Pepper doesn't understand why Tony would buy a hockey team, much less the New York Islanders, who seemed to be barely staying afloat these days. She honestly doesn't know how to react when he tells her the news, which he delivers in the same manner that one might use when telling her about their weekend plans. 

"You bought a hockey team?" she asks again. She's waiting for the punchline, but there doesn't seem to be one.

"Yeah," Tony says. "The owners were looking to sell, so I thought I might as well."

"You might as well," Pepper repeats. 

"Yeah." Pepper's face shows her instant exasperation at her former boss. She had been his personal assistant for long enough to come to expect a certain degree of erratic, spontaneous behavior from him, but this felt like it crosses the line into straight up insanity. 

She rephrases the question, "So you decided last night that you had a sudden interest in hockey, a sport that you have never watched, and dropped a billion dollars on a team on a whim?"

His answer remained unchanged.

"Are you absolutely insane?"

"Probably," he says with a shrug. "It varies from moment to moment."

Pepper clasps her hands in front of her face, her elbows on her desk, and resists the urge to bury her head in her hands and scream. Tony has always been cavalier with his money, spending it most often on outrageous gifts for other people. He has a lot of money, and nothing he actually needs to use it for, so she supposes she should have seen something like this coming eventually. He could have bought an actually decent team, though.

“I take it everything is already set in stone? It’s too late to talk you out of it?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’. Tony stands from his chair opposite her and comes to sit on the corner of the desk in front of her. “It’s really a wise investment, if you think about it. I’m diversifying my interests. Expanding my world.”

He makes broad hand gestures as he talks, and she smiles a little on how passionate he actually seems about this. 

“You know there’s actually a lot of uses for tech in hockey,” he points out, standing again. He reaches for the blazer he had thrown over the chair, slinging it over his arm. He starts backing up toward the door as he says, “New methods of detecting if the puck has actually crossed the line into the net or if a player is offsides. Not to mention all of the possibilities for live data tracking on players and sticks and pucks.”

Pepper narrows her eyes at him. “Did you just research all that last night?”

“Maybe,” he says with a wicked grin. He backs the rest of the way out of the room, leaving Pepper to deal with the aftermath of his impulse buy. News of the Islanders’s new team owner would be spreading soon enough, and even though it was Tony’s buy, not the company’s, it would still have repercussions in the media on SI. She picks up the phone, and dials the first number on the speed dial: public relations. 


	2. There's a Rumor Going Round

Steve Rogers laces up his skates with the quick precision of someone who’s done it a thousand times. Around him, his teammates are putting on their pads and jerseys and taping up their sticks, cracking jokes at each other’s expenses the entire time. Sometimes he joins in with the jokes and wisecracks, but today he keeps to himself. His team always respects that, doesn’t try to pull him into the conversation if he doesn’t want to be in it. He likes to think before games, going over every detail in his mind. He reviews the other team’s players and everything he knows about them. Hammer likes to take dirty shots on the smaller players, the fourth line guys who he thinks aren’t worthy of being on the ice against him. The Russian guy Vanko has a deadly slapshot, and Steve blocked it once before only to end up with a broken wrist and five weeks of missed games. Sometimes it’s just better to let that shot end up in the back of the net. Ronan knows how to body check better than any other guy in the league, and Steve wants to remember to always keep his head up against him. The guy Steve is always most worried about is Zemo, though. He’s quick and smart and manages to get more breakaways than all the other guys in the league every year. He racks up time on ice, and more than once Steve has thought about just punching him in the face in the middle of the game and taking the penalties for instigating a fight. More than once Thor, the enforcer on the team, has done just that. 

Bucky is the one that finally breaks Steve out of his own head. His boundaries have always been a little looser. “Hey, man. You good?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answers. He grabs his stick and tape from his locker. He always tapes his stick last when getting ready - it’s part of his pre-game routine and has become a superstition. Fresh, clean lines of tape applied right before he goes out onto the ice for warm ups. 

“I’ve got your back against Zemo tonight, you know,” Bucky says, taking a seat on the bench next to him. His helmet sits in his lap, and he fidgets with the straps as he talks. “I know how he gets on your nerves.”

Steve smiles at that. Bucky is the perfect alternate captain, and on any other team Steve knows he would have been the captain himself by now. But Bucky always says he prefers to be Steve’s right hand man instead. He even turned down a better offer from the Rangers a year ago just to stay here with Steve and their teammates (and to not have to play with Zemo). Bucky is loyal to his team, considers all of them to be his family, and Steve feels the same way. It helps, too, that he and Bucky played together in college. There is a familiarity between them that just makes playing together seem effortless. They know what the other is thinking on and off the ice.

“I’ll ignore him,” Steve says. “And if he tries anything sketchy, Thor will just hit him in the face with an elbow.”

Steve glances at Thor, who nods in return and says seriously, “No one is hitting Steve on my watch.”

Steve could of course handle himself, but he always delegated it to Thor as the unofficial enforcer on the team. Thor always won his fights and never took on more than what was necessary. The crowd loved him for it, and he loved seeing the crowd on their feet for him and his team banging their sticks against the boards. Some guys were only enforcers because they had to bring something extra to the team to keep their spot in the pros. Thor did it just for fun.

Finishing the tape pattern on his stick, Steve puts the roll back in his locker and turns to Bucky again, who says, “Did you hear the rumor going round the front office yesterday?”

“Nope, and I don’t want to know.”

“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky whines, shoving his shoulder playfully with his own. “It’s a really good one.”

“He’s right. It’s downright hilarious,” Sam, his other alternate captain, says, interjecting before turning his back to them to continue his own conversation with Scott. They seem to be arguing over the rules of time travel for some reason. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Steve repeats. He never liked hearing the rumors. They only seemed to be true about a third of the time, and they always stirred up unnecessary drama. Last season, someone started the rumor that Steve was being traded to the Penguins, and the entire locker room turned into a madhouse.

Bucky rolls his eyes and insists, “This one has some real merit, though. Thor heard it from Bruce, who heard it from Natasha in marketing, who overheard Fury talking to his assistant Maria about a new guy buying the team.”

“That’s way too many layers of gossip, Buck. You can’t actually believe that, right?” It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes now. This particular type of rumor had been spinning for years now, ever since Steve can remember. The Islanders weren’t exactly the most financially stable team, and they had hit a bit of a slump a couple years ago that they were still recovering from. Those kinds of things got the rumor mill turning a little faster, with changes in management and coaches predicted all the time. The rumors about management, admittedly, were true with greater frequency than ones about players, but still weren’t facts.

“You know that if it came from Natasha then it’s true.”

“But you didn’t hear it from Natasha,” Steve reminds him. “You heard it from Thor, who heard it from Bruce, who heard it from Natasha.”

Bucky thinks it over for just a moment before deciding to ignore Steve’s argument. “But don’t you want to hear who’s buying the team? Because it’s really, really good. Like best rumor you’ve heard all year good. You’re going to freak out when it’s turns out to be true.”

“If it turns out to be true,” Steve says. He stands from the bench, ready to leave the locker room for warm ups. Reaching into his locker for his helmet, he says, “And I doubt it will.”

“Then what’s the harm in me telling you? You can have a good laugh about it, and nothing will change,” Bucky presses on as he fastens the strap on his own helmet.

Steve gives in. He always gives in to Bucky if he pushes hard enough. Sighing, he says, “Fine, tell me. Make me a victim of the rumor mill. Then I can tell the next guy that I heard it from Bucky, who heard it from Thor, who heard it from Bruce, who heard it from Natasha.” 

“Well when you put it like that it sounds bad,” Bucky complains. He frowns for a second before shifting his face back into a mischievous smile. “It’s Tony fucking Stark.”

Embarrassingly, Steve’s stick almost falls from his hands at the news, and his head snaps to the side to look at his friend. Bucky knew exactly what this would do to him.

“You’re lying,” Steve says in disbelief. It’s too good to be true. 

“Would I lie to you, Stevie?” Bucky places a hand to his chest, having the audacity to look hurt at Steve’s accusation.

“Yes. All the time, for any number of reasons.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, becoming even more dramatic with his feigned hurt. “I am deeply offended.”

Steve sighs yet again. “Did Natasha really hear that?”

Bucky smiles even wider than before. “I confirmed it with her myself when I heard it. Didn’t want to get your hopes up for nothing. Sounded pretty legit.”

The coach calls for the players to head out to the ice. They’re already behind schedule by a few minutes. Steve lingers as the locker room begins to clear out, catching an extra moment with just Bucky.

“Promise me you’ll be cool when you meet him?” Bucky says, putting his arm around Steve’s shoulders as they begin the walk through the tunnel. A little too loudly he continues, “I know you’ve had a permanent hard on for the guy since you were 19, but I really can’t be seen with you if you can’t be cool about it.”

“I do not have a permanent hard on for him,” Steve says back in a harsh whisper. He looks around to see if anyone overheard him, but they seem to be in the clear.

Bucky snorts, “Yeah, sure. Like you haven’t had sex dreams about the guy. Okay, Steve.”

“I told you that in confidence!” 

“And still no one knows but me,” Bucky says. They’ve reached the end of the tunnel, and Steve hears the applause from the fans. No matter how many years he’s been in the league, he still gets a little jolt of adrenaline from the sound of the crowd. 

Bucky walks out onto the ice, skating backwards to say one last thing to Steve, “You’ll thank me later for the warning!”

Steve isn’t so sure that he will. Tony Stark consumes his every thought as he skates out toward the blue line to retrieve a puck to pass around, and he continues to stay on his mind during the entirety of the game.


	3. This Slope is Treacherous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's first official day as team owner does not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know much about what owners actually do on a daily basis, but let's pretend it might go something like this for Tony lol

Tony sits in a conference room in the Barclays Center, gathering his thoughts after his last meeting. The day isn’t going anything like he expected when he woke up this morning. He expected to meet the upper management that had been hired by the last owner, maybe hear their thoughts on the team and the vision they have for it before sharing his own, which he did have, by the way, even though everyone seemed to think he had gone into this completely blind. Putting his name into the ring as the new owner was an impulse, he’ll admit, but during the weeks of paperwork and legal jargon necessary to transfer ownership he’d thought a lot about what he wants the team to be, the things he thought it should represent. Sure, he’d only watched his first hockey game 15 days ago, but he’d spent the better part of the last two weeks watching seasons worth of old footage and reading the abridged version of the team’s history. No one seemed very interested in any of that, however.

In his last meeting, Nick Fury, the general manager for the team, had strongly implied that Tony’s only role should be as an investor for the team. Fury said the team already had a perfectly capable staff, suggesting that replacing even one of the high-level executives would cause the rest to walk out. Tony didn’t know how true that was, but he really didn’t want to start his ownership with a complete walk out of the staff. Fury had been just the latest in a line of people telling him in no specific terms to take a backseat and let them continue to work. It seems that everyone is of the belief that he doesn’t belong here.

Tony rests his head in his hands, rubbing his temples gently to alleviate the pressure that had been slowly building there for hours now. He glances at the sheet in front of him, which lists all the names of people he has meetings scheduled with today. The six names were crossed off, the lines getting angrier and darker down the list. 

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, Tony curses when he realizes that team practice is starting any minute. Papers are scattered all around him, remnants of the quickfire meetings, and he gathers them all into a pile. He feels disheveled, which isn’t the impression he wants to give the entire team and coaching staff. He doesn’t want yet another person judging him before he can even speak. Tony straightens his tie and smooths the wrinkles out of his shirt. He’s spent the day tugging at the ends of his hair, a consequence of his frustration, and the repeated action has completely destroyed the styling he had done this morning. He does the best he can with his hair, but he can feel that the front has relaxed into its more natural curl, and he deems his hair situation to be a lost cause.

He grabs the stack of papers, shoving them haphazardly into his briefcase as he leaves the conference room. Checking his phone while he walks down to the practice ice, he curses at the twelve texts and two missed calls. Most are from Pepper, who is keeping him updated on the news about his new job title, both the good and bad like he requested the day before. He decides he doesn’t actually want to know. 

A long hallway and a series of doors leads him to the practice ice, where he ends up standing between the team benches for a moment. Phil Coulson, the head coach, gives him a nod when he sees him. Of all the people he’d met with today, he likes Phil the best. He at least let Tony talk before telling him that things really didn’t need to change.

Tony opens the small door next to the home bench and walks into the stands. He goes a couple rows up before taking a seat, setting his briefcase in the aisle next to him. He doesn’t want the players to see him here just yet, wanting instead to see them in their natural element before they worry about performing harder in front of the boss. The players are already on the ice, performing shooting drills, Tony assumes. He watches them intently, his mind racing with ideas for technology to make tracking the whole process easier.  
For a long while he sits through the various drills and listens to the coaches give feedback from the benches. He finds himself watching the team captain the most, watching the way he pulls every single teammate aside by themselves to talk to them during the drills. They seem to respond well to him and listen to what he has to say with a real interest. Tony can see that they respect him, and he decides that he wants to meet with him next. 

When the practice ends, the players gather around to listen to Phil talk about positioning and shot blocking and passing routes and other terms that Tony drowns out while waiting for the players to disburse so he can get to Steve. Tony gets up to stand near the benches again.

As the players head back to the locker room, Steve is the last one to come off the ice, whispering to the alternate captains next to him the entire time. He catches multiple glances from the group thrown his way, and he gets the familiar feeling that he’s the topic of their conversation. 

“Hi. Steve Rogers, I presume?” Tony sticks out his hand toward Steve, who stares at it for a beat too long before shaking it. He turns his head to watch the rest of his teammates and the coaches disappear into the locker room, leaving them alone. Steve opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it abruptly. He nods instead.

“Not much of a talker. Alright,” Tony says. 

“Sorry,” Steve says softly. “Guess I’m a little nervous.”

“Nervous? For little old me? Consider me flattered then,” Tony replies. He likes Steve instantly. No false bravado like Tony expected from the captain, just simple honesty right from the start. 

“I, uh, haven’t really met with owners much before.” Steve looks down at his skates while he talks at first, but finds the confidence to meet Tony’s eyes at the last word. And wow are his eyes blue. 

“Well,” Tony says, “I’ve never met with a player before so let’s consider ourselves even, shall we?”

Steve cracks a small smile and nods again. There’s a slight blush forming across his cheeks, though Tony doesn’t know why. It’s cute, though, and he kind of wants to see it more.

That’s unprofessional as hell, he scolds himself in his mind. He returns his focus to the actual business. “Are you available for a meeting right now?”

Steve’s eyes widen at the question, “Right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” Tony repeats, then he remembers that Steve just finished practice. “Or after you take a shower, I guess. That’s probably better for both of us.”

“Yeah, that would be good. I can, um, meet you right back here?”

“Perfect,” Tony says, flashing him a smile. “I’ll be waiting, Captain.”

Tony watches Steve walk away and notices the way Steve sneaks a quick glance back over his shoulder, as if to see if Tony was looking. Tony laughs to himself at the nervousness of the other man, who just moments before had seemed so composed and confident on the ice. Taking a seat on the bench, he decides to click on those texts from Pepper while he waits for Steve to return. 

The very first headline contains a picture of him from a party, his hand on the lower back of some girl whose name he can no longer remember, though he knows she never went home with him that night - he never asked her to. That’s always the picture they choose, though. The pictures of a party and alcohol and girls half his age around him. It doesn’t bother him like it might have at one point in time; it’s the image he built for himself through his own actions, so why complain when they talk about it? He knew better than to actually read the articles, though, but now that he’s started he doesn’t stop. The articles all say the same thing, questioning the purchase. 

Steve comes back as he’s scrolling through the last one in the list, and Tony jumps a little at his sudden appearance. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, running his hand through his damp hair.

“Don’t be,” Tony replies. He takes in Steve’s new appearance. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater and even darker jeans, both of which cling to his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Tony can’t help but stare for a moment.

Tony almost asks him to return to the conference room with him, but changes his mind and asks instead, “There’s a bar not far from here. Want to get a drink?”

“A drink?” Steve’s voice is a pitch higher than it was before.

“A drink,” Tony says. “I don’t know about you but I hate conference rooms, and I could really use a shot of whiskey.” 

Steve nods, “Yeah, okay. A drink. At two in the afternoon.”

Tony laughs and gestures for Steve to lead the way out of the building. They’re quiet until they’re outside, when Tony asks, “Do you know why I wanted to have this meeting with you?”

“Not at all,” Steve is honest again. 

Tony guides them down the sidewalk, toward the bar that’s two blocks down, then takes a stab at honesty himself, laying down the confidence he normally tries so hard to display, “I don’t have a damn clue of how to run a hockey team. I mean, don’t get me wrong I know how to run a business, but it’s not really the same, is it? The basic mechanics might be there, but there’s a different sort of edge to running a team. A lot more people to answer to at the end of the day, and so much of the business comes down to how a group of guys performs in a physical contest against a different group of guys. And somehow there’s even more ego involved, which I really didn’t think was possible. I thought tech guys were dicks, but that Fury guy? What a hard ass. Might as well of told me to fuck off, didn’t give a damn that I’m actually his boss. Whatever, right? And I know I’m rambling, by the way, but what I’m really trying to say in all this is that I want to do this right. I want to make this team something really great. That’s who I am, really. The guy that takes things apart to see all the pieces before fixing what was broken.”

“You think the team is broken?” Steve asks. 

He thinks about backtracking, not wanting to offend the only guy who seems genuinely interested in what he has to say today, but he’s never been the type to back down when he knows he’s right about something. “I think things can always be better. I think the last owner wanted to get out because he saw that the team couldn’t compete in this market anymore. This isn’t a reflection on you or your teammates, by the way. It’s just the facts. Attendance is down across the league, and some teams are getting hit a lot harder than others. Doesn’t matter how many games you win if the rest of the business can’t get fans in.”

“You think you can suddenly produce new fans?” Tony tries not to smile, as it wouldn’t send the right message here. Steve might think of it as condescending, when really Tony is just happy to be getting the exact kind of conversation he wanted from today.

“I think I bring a fresh perspective and a vast array of abilities that you haven’t even seen yet. And I know that I’m willing to try just about anything at least once.”

Steve doesn’t respond to that, but he takes a long sideways glance at Tony and his eyes seem to be assessing him. He’s seen that same look a million times in his life - it’s the one that says “I can’t tell if you’re completely bullshitting everything you’re saying right now or not.” 

“I get it,” Tony says. “You have doubts about me. Don’t get why I’m here or don’t like the way I think about it. But I was more than just a figurehead at SI, you know. I contributed just as much as anyone else when I was in charge, not that anyone really cared. But you don’t have to like me, Steve. I don’t care if you do, but I would like to have some input on the decisions I’m going to make. It’s your choice if you want to give it to me or not.”

Steve raises his eyebrows and he stops walking to stand in front of Tony. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he appears a little indignant as he says, “I never doubted your ability to run a business, Mr. Stark.”

Tony winces internally at the name. He’s always hated being addressed so formally, something about it reminds him a little too much of his father. “You didn’t need to say it. I saw it on your face.”

He expects Steve to either fess up to it or shy away, but Steve gives him neither response. He pushes back instead.

“That isn’t true,” he says. “I think you’re right. Things could be better around here. Can’t say that it feels great to see half-filled arenas every game.”

“But?” Tony knows there’s one coming.

“But, I think you might be a little overconfident,” Steve fills in, he turns back around to keep walking next to Tony. “Owners don’t really do all that much themselves, you know that right?”

Tony figured that out rather quickly. He was expected to make staffing decisions, though Fury had put an abrupt end to that thought, and manage the budgets and funding at a high level. His job was to make sure the team was running smoothly by hiring the right people to do it for him. 

“Sure, that’s what a lot of owners do,” Tony shrugs. “But I’m better than them.”

Steve laughs at that, surprising Tony a little, but he finds himself smiling back at him and saying, “So are you in, then?”

“In?”

“Yeah, in,” Tony repeats. “With the vision.”

“There was a vision in all that?”

Tony scoffs, “Yeah, Captain. The visions of glory and championships and the Stanley whatever. Me on the front page of the news being hailed as the world’s best team owner.”

“Oh, that vision,” Steve says, grinning now. “Who could say no to that?”

“Not you, I hope.”

“Never me.” 

Tony feels a sense of peace settling in, and he lets silence fall for the rest of the walk to the bar. Once inside, he guides Steve to a back corner booth. He gestures to the bartender with two raised fingers, and Steve seems surprised at the exchange. “They know me here.”

“You spend a lot time in Brooklyn?”

“I spend a lot of time looking for quiet places where people don’t expect me to be,” Tony answers. He lets out a deep breath before asking his own question, “So tell me about the team, then. The other players.”

Steve takes a moment to think. “Not much to tell. We’re like a family at this point. I know people say that all the time, but it really is true for us. Everyone’s got everyone else’s back.”

“I imagine everyone had a lot to say about me in the locker room,” Tony says. “Do I even want to know?”

Steve’s cheeks turn a brighter red than before, prompting Tony to ask, “That bad, huh?”

“No, no,” Steve says too quickly. “Not bad at all, I swear. We really didn’t talk about it much.”

“You’re a bad liar, Cap,” Tony says. He isn’t offended as much as he is amused. Over the years, he’s gotten used to the trail of gossip and rumors that follow his name. He’s leaned into them as well, playing up the whole playboy billionaire thing in front of the cameras and the strangers he meets at galas and parties. His reputation precedes him, and he’ll admit that he likes it better that way. It’s easier to know exactly what everyone expects of you. There’s no guessing at what people want, and everyone’s so surprised when he actually does something truly good.

“Honest,” Steve reassures. “We didn’t even know that the rumor about you buying the team was true until yesterday.”

Tony finds it hard to believe that nothing was said about him, but he doesn’t press Steve any further for the details. Some stones are better left unturned. “Alright, if you say so.” 

“I do,” Steve says, fidgeting in his seat a bit. “Say so, I mean. We’re all happy to have you here, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” he finally corrects. 

Steve hesitates, but nods, “We really are happy about it, Tony.”

“Not sure I buy it, but I’ll let it slide.”

The bartender comes with their drinks - high-end whiskey on the rocks for both of them. Tony drinks half of his in one swift motion, while Steve just holds his glass and swirls the liquid around. 

Steve seems to want to say something, so Tony says, “Just say it.”

“Say what?” He looks up from the drink he’d been staring at.

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“I just,” he hesitates again, focusing his eyes on anything but Tony’s own. The spot over Tony’s shoulder is apparently very interesting all of the sudden. “I don’t know, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit here. I have faith in you, is what I’m saying.”

“You just met me. I could be an absolute madman,” Tony points out. “Could have a secret plot to destroy the entire organization.”

Steve smiles and finally takes a drink of whiskey before he says, “I’ll admit that I’m kind of a fan of yours. Almost feels like I do know you, and I’d be willing to bet there’s no ulterior motives involved.”

“A fan,” Tony puts his hand on his chest, playing up the dramatics. “Wow, flattery again. It really will get you everywhere, Cap.”

“I’m serious,” he insists. “I always liked the things you were doing with SI. The green energy initiative was years ahead of everyone else. And I know the weapons manufacturing thing was a major mess and all, but I liked what you did with it in the end. My ma used to tell me that it’s the things we do with the hand we’re dealt that makes us who we are, and I think you managed to do some pretty great things.”

The lighthearted mood Tony had been trying to establish with Steve fades away. He isn’t accustomed to compliments, not like this. He’s used to flattery by people just trying to get something from him, or from both men and women trying to sleep with him, but the sincerity in Steve’s voice throws him off. But it’s in Tony’s nature to be self-deprecating at all times, so he says, “Well, you know, my entire life is just other people putting out fires I’ve accidentally created. I can’t take all the credit. Probably can’t take any.”

Steve lets him dodge the compliment, thankfully, without further comment. He runs a finger along the rim of glass while Tony finishes off his drink. “Not a whiskey man, I take it.”

Steve blushes for the third time. “Not really,” he admits. 

“So what are you into, then?” Tony leans forward, arms crossed on the table. Steve subconsciously leans forward in response, a mere inches separate them now. There’s a flirty undertone now that Tony knows he shouldn’t have taken, but doesn’t bother controlling. What’s the harm?

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” There’s a devilish glint in Steve’s eyes that Tony wonders if he’s imagining. He can’t possibly be flirting back, right?

“Well that’s why I’m asking,” Tony teases back, knowing full well that he’s probably crossing so many lines but not being able to stop himself even if he wanted to. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, just stares at Tony for what feels like a long time before leaning back into his seat, breaking the brief moment they were sharing. Or at least the moment Tony thought they were sharing. 

Glancing at his watch, Steve says, “I should probably get going. Supposed to be meeting Bucky later.”

Tony feels at stab of guilt and worries that he’s made Steve feel so uncomfortable that now he’s looking for any excuse to leave the bar. “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve shifts in his seat, but doesn’t get up right away. He lingers at the edge of the booth, looking like he wants to say something again. Whatever it is never gets said, as Steve says instead, “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

Tony nods, “I’m sure you will.”

When Steve walks out, Tony turns to the bartender for another drink. He likes Steve just a little too much for his own good, but he vows not to turn it into something bigger than it is. Steve seems like a nice guy, the kind that shouldn’t get too close to him. Tony’s life has a way of sucking people in and putting them back out into the world broken. Besides, they’ve only had one conversation that Steve left in a hurry, he shouldn’t care.

Tony isn’t sure how long he stays in that booth, but the sky has long since turned dark by the time he finally calls Happy to pick him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter title is from Treacherous by Taylor Swift!


	4. This Daydream is Dangerous

Steve doesn’t have any plans with Bucky. It was an excuse, and a bad one at that. Tony’s face had fallen when he told him he was leaving, and his own heart sank at the sight. But he had to get out of there before he made anymore of a fool of himself. What the hell was he thinking, so shamelessly flirting with Tony Stark. His damn boss, who had the power to cut his playing time to zero if he really wanted to. But was he crazy to think that Tony was flirting, too? He had to believe that the answer was yes. He was projecting his own crush onto Tony, wanting so badly for something to happen that he’d made the whole thing up in his head.

Though the plans with Bucky were fake, Steve goes to his apartment anyway, needing someone to talk to after the drink with Tony. He doesn’t knock on the door, just pulls the key from his pocket and walks right in.

Bucky pokes his head out from the kitchen at the sound of the door. “Hey, man. What happened to the meeting with Stark?”

“I am an embarrassment is what happened,” Steve says, walking into the kitchen.

“Aw, come on, Steve. I told you to be cool. You promised!”

Steve opens Bucky’s fridge and steals a bottle of water. He leans against the kitchen island while Bucky pulls a bag of salt and vinegar chips from a cabinet, which he always keeps on hand just for Steve. The chips are placed in front of Steve, and Bucky goes back to cutting an apple into slices.

“I know. And I failed. Horribly.”

“What’d you do? It was just a meeting.”

“He asked me to go for a drink with him,” Steve says, making Bucky spin around.

“A drink, or a _drink_.”

“Just a regular drink. He said he hates conference rooms, and I figured why not. But then it got weird.”

“Weird how?” Bucky finishes with the apple and sets the plate down on the island to stand across from Steve.

“I don’t know,” he says, rubbing his face with his hands. “He was really cool, Buck. He was talking about bringing a fresh perspective to the team, and it really sounded like he cares about the organization and just wants to do a good job. He was funny, too, but I just kept saying the dumbest things.”

Bucky waits for him to continue, crunching loudly on the apple slices. Steve admits with embarrassment, “I told him I was a fan.”

Bucky almost chokes and starts to laugh, “Oh my god, Stevie. You don’t tell your celebrity crush about the crush. That’s like the most basic rule about meeting famous people. How do you not know that?”

“It gets worse,” Steve groans. He rests his head on the kitchen island, not wanting to see Bucky’s face as he says, “He just kept saying all these things about other people doubting him, and he even asked me if the other guys on the team were talking about him, and do you know what I said, Buck?”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“Well first I told him that I have faith in him. Then I started talking about the green energy stuff and the weapons division and complimenting him on the things he did with Stark Industries and I think I blacked out after that.”

“Oh, god. You didn’t say that. Please tell me that you did not look Tony Stark in the eye and say those things.”

“I don’t even think I looked him in the eye. I was too damn nervous,” Steve says. “You should have seen his face, too. He looked so uncomfortable, and I wanted to die on the spot. Really would’ve been better if I had.”

Steve finally looks up, seeing the amusement and horror mixed on his friend’s face. Bucky says, “Oh, no, Steve. It gets worse again, doesn’t it? What did you do?”

“There may have been some flirting.”

“Good god,” is all Bucky can say.

“Not even good flirting. It was so bad. You remember freshman year of college? When I realized I was gay and started flirting with guys for the first time? And you told me that I sounded like a murderer trying to coax a victim into coming back to their basement with them? It was worse than that. And he ordered me a whiskey, too, and you know I can’t drink whiskey ever since that one party.”

“When you got drunk out of your mind and jumped off a roof trying to fly?”

“That’s the one,” Steve says. He stuffs a handful of chips into his mouth, trying desperately to drown his feelings in carbs and sodium.

“Did he flirt back at least? What was the vibe?”

“The vibe was that he asked me what I was into if I didn’t like whiskey, and I said ‘wouldn’t you like to know’,” Steve says, causing Bucky to laugh again. “And he said, ‘yeah, that’s why I’m asking’.”

“I mean, that’s definitely sounds rough. But how did he say it, though?”

Steves stops to think about it, replaying the memory for what must have been the millionth time by now. Every time he thinks about it, it happens a little more awkwardly, his insecurity distorting the accuracy of the memory. “I don’t know, Buck. I guess he could have been flirting, too. It sounded like it, at first at least, but there’s no way.”

“Why not?”

Steve gives him an incredulous. “He’s Tony Stark.”

“And you’re Steve Rogers, what’s your point?”

Steve can’t believe he has to spell it out for him. It feels so obvious to him, and it should be obvious to anyone. “He’s billionaire, genius, philanthropist Tony Stark.”

“Okay, and you’re kind, funny, athletic Steve Rogers,” Bucky says. “What’s so bad about that?”

Steve doesn’t respond, so Bucky continues, setting all of his earlier teasing and jokes aside, “So maybe you said some weird things. Definitely came on a little strong with the fan thing and the whole I-have-faith thing. But there’s no reason for him not to like you, Steve. You’re a good guy. He should consider himself lucky that you’d even attempt to flirt with him, even if it was bad. And I’m sure it was better than you think it was. Even you’re not that helpless.”

The words make Steve feel better, and he says, “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Bucky. That means a lot.”

“Any time, man. Although you really could learn how to knock. Or at least call before dropping in. You know, give a guy a little privacy.”

Steve laughs and jokes, “Why? In case I’m interrupting a date? You don’t get any.”

“First of all, I get plenty of dates. Everybody wants a piece of this,” Bucky gestures at his body. “Second of all, there are a lot worse things you could be interrupting, Stevie. Neither one of us needs that, do we?”

“God, no, I don’t,” Steve wholeheartedly agrees. He lets go of the previous conversation, switching gears to their earlier practice and talking about the game ahead of them.

He feels so much lighter than he did before coming here, thanks to Bucky knowing just what to say like always. He resolves to do better the next time he sees Tony, just to be himself and see what happens. For a moment he allows himself to imagine it, knowing full well that that particular daydream could be dangerous, but liking the idea anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that left nice comments and kudos so far! The author thrives on kindness :)


	5. Make Me Wanna

Two days after the meetings from hell and the mostly pleasant afternoon with Steve, Tony sits in the owner’s suite for his first actual hockey game. The last game of any sport he’d been to was an MIT football game that Rhodey dragged him to almost thirty years ago, and he felt excited for this one. 

Pepper and Rhodey are sitting next to each other on Tony's right, chatting about business or something or other while Tony focuses on the game. Well, while he tries to focus on the game but instead only watches the captain and hates himself for it. He'd always been a sucker for sky blue eyes and outrageous muscles. How could he possibly resist? Steve looks like the embodiment of the American Dream. 

Tony finds himself enthralled with the action of the game, and he might have bought a team lot sooner if he knew how entertaining it actually was. 

Steve plays with an aggressive edge, something that Tony already knew from the footage he watched a week ago. It’s different, though, to see it in person, and Tony would be willing to admit that he likes seeing it. 

His body checks are precise, always landing with the exact amount of force needed to knock a guy off balance without being an asshole about it. When he gets pushed around, he pushes right back. He doesn’t seem to like it when his teammates get shoved into the boards, and more than once Steve gets in the face of the guys on the opposing team after the whistle. Tony wishes he could hear what Steve is telling them. He would bet anything that Steve can trash talk and intimidate like nobody else. 

At the start of the third period, Pepper announces that she’s heading home, claiming that she has an early day tomorrow. She gives a pointed glare at Tony as she says, “There’s a mountain of paperwork that someone was supposed to take care of last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says. “My bad.”

She shakes her head, still glaring daggers into him. “It always is, isn’t it? Hope you at least spent the night working on the proposals for the board meeting on Monday.”

“So about that,” Tony begins, and Pepper huffs. “You know, did I ever tell you that you are the most amazing woman in the world? And you’re just absolutely radiant right now, isn’t she, Rhodey? No? Not working?”

“No, not working,” she says, but Tony sees the annoyance shift into amusement until there’s a hint of a smile on her face. 

“Damn.”

“Proposals. Monday. Please,” Pepper reiterates, turning to leave. She throws a “goodnight” over her shoulder on her way out of the suite. 

A comfortable silence falls between Tony and Rhodey, and for a few minutes they just watch the game. When the other team scores to tie the game, under his breath Tony mutters, “Fucking shit.”

Rhodey laughs at him, and Tony turns to him with narrowed eyes. “What are you laughing at?”

“Never seen you care about a game before, that’s all. It’s kind of funny,” Rhodey explains. “You’ve been so into it that I don’t think you’ve heard a single thing Pepper and I said all night.” 

It was true, but Tony didn’t want to admit it, so he argues, “Not true.”

“Oh, really? Because we talked about you right next to you, and you didn’t say a thing.”

“What? When?”

“When you were busy staring at Steve.”

“What did she tell you?” Tony asks, his cheeks burning. He told Pepper about the drink with Steve, and he may have made a couple of comments that were on the inappropriate side. He’d mostly been joking when he told her about wanting to lick Steve’s chiseled abs clean. (He hasn’t seen Steve’s abs yet, but he knows without a doubt that they’re chiseled.)

“Said you have a little crush on him,” Rhodey shrugs. “I think it’s nice, by the way. It’s been a while since you’ve had anyone.”

The last part was true. Tony and Pepper had broken up more than a year ago, deciding that they were better as friends and colleagues than as a couple. Since then, Tony hadn’t been dating much, or at all, really. It was the first part of Rhodey’s statement that Tony took issue with, saying, “It’s not a crush.”

“Whatever you say.”

“It’s not!”

“Of course not. You just think he’s strong enough to easily hold you up against a wall.”

Tony throws his head back, staring up at the bright lights and hating both Pepper and Rhodey so much in this moment. 

“Honeybear,” he whines. “Please stop talking about it.”

Throwing his arm around Tony’s shoulders, Rhodey laughs and says, “Won’t mention it again, Tones. Promise.”

“He’s really nice,” Tony says, breaking his own rule. 

“So I hear,” Rhodey sounds amused.

“And really cute,” he continues. Rhodey hums in agreement, but doesn’t say anything.

They fall back into silence, and Tony checks the scoreboard. It’s tied at two goals a piece with two minutes left to play. With every passing second the crowd seems to get louder, the pace of the game getting even faster. It’s hard not to get an adrenaline rush in an atmosphere like this. If Tony didn’t like hockey before, he definitely does now. 

With thirty seconds left Steve’s line comes back on the ice to try to get a last minute goal and save the game from going into overtime. A shot from the other team bounces off the goal post, narrowly missing the net by a matter of inches. The puck ricochets off the boards, landing perfectly on Steve’s stick, who was positioned on the blue line. Tony’s heart races as Steve takes off down the ice without a single defender in front of him. It’s the breakaway of every player’s dreams. The entire crowd gets to their feet in anticipation of Steve’s shot, Tony and Rhodey included. He stops breathing when Steve pulls his stick back, continues again when he realizes it was just a deke. But the goalie falls for the quick move, moving to Steve’s left to block the would be shot while Steve continues to the right. The goalie realizes his mistake too late, and Steve draws back for a hard wrist shot that sends the puck right into the back of the net. The sound of the goal horn sends a shiver down Tony’s spine, and he cheers along with everyone else. Steve’s goal celebration is understated, nothing like Tony’s would have been in this moment. Tony knows he would be all kinds of obnoxious, while Steve only pumps a fist in the air before going to celebrate with his teammates.

The last twenty seconds of the game tick away with electricity still buzzing in the air. The horn sounds again at the end of the game, and the fans give a final cheer for their winning team. Tony sits back down and watches the team celebrate the victory in the center of the ice before they head back through the tunnel and into the locker room. 

They sit in the suite, just Tony and Rhodey, watching fans clear out of the stadium until Tony finally says, “I need to head down to the locker room.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow, and Tony quickly follows up, “I have some tech for Steve. I’ll be quick, I swear.”

“I’ll come with,” Rhodey says, getting up with Tony. 

“I don’t need a babysitter, Platypus.”

“Of course you don’t. I just want to see it,” Rhodey lies. Tony knows that he’s tagging along just in case Tony manages to make a fool of himself, partially to laugh at him for it and partially to save him from himself.

“It’ll be quick. In and out.”

They exit the suite together, and Tony leads them through the concourse, then the corridors marked for employee use only. The building is a bit of a maze, and Tony’s surprised when they end up outside the locker room without getting lost first. 

Media personnel are still gathered around, conducting their postgame interviews with the players and coaches. He hears Coulson telling reporters that it was a “team effort out there” and that “all the guys played really well”. It’s all the standard lines you’d expect to hear from the winning team. In the locker room next door, the losing coach is probably telling a different set of reporters that they “played a great game but it just didn’t come together for them tonight”. 

Tony searches for Steve in the room full of sweaty hockey players, finally spotting him standing between Bucky and Sam. They’re talking to each other about something, still dressed in their uniforms minus the jerseys and shoulder pads. Steve’s undershirt is clinging to every muscular inch of him, and Tony has to fight to push away the dirty thoughts intruding his mind. 

As Tony is thinking about how fun it might be to be bent over that bench, Rhodey tells him, “I’ll wait here.”

Tony nods and moves toward Steve and his friends. Some of the media personnel notice him there, but he ignores the questions and brushes them off with a wave of his hand. The sudden commotion causes Bucky to turn his head, looking at Tony with a strange smile. Bucky gestures to Sam to come over to his locker, leaving Steve alone at his. 

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says. “That was a great game.”

Steve turns around at the sound of Tony’s voice and a smile spreads across his face, “Hey, Tony. Thanks. It was all them, though.”

Such a captainly thing to say, Tony thinks. Of course Steve is the honorable guy who takes none of the credit for himself, even when he scores the game winning goal on a breakaway. 

"This is for you," Tony says, holding out a small box to Steve. "It's a tracker that you can put on your stick for practices, right on the blade. Measures velocity, number of shots, location of the puck on the stick when shots are taken, and a bunch of other things you might want to know about. It records, too. Transmits data straight to your email, which I stole from the internal servers, by the way."

Steve takes the little device out of the box. It just looks like a small disc, but the nanotech will disperse across the stick when he attaches it. While Steve is examining it, Tony gazes around the room, noticing all the eyes that suddenly turn away when Tony looks at them. 

"Thank you, Tony. When did you make this?"

"Last night. Feel free to give me any feedback you have, no matter how small it seems. I want to implement it across the entire team eventually, maybe see if the league would allow it during actual games. I think they'd come around to it eventually," Tony says, glancing towards the door where Rhodey's still waiting for him. There's a smile on Rhodey's face, and Tony rushes the conversation along, feeling sudden embarrassment at being watched now that Rhodey's mentioned the definitely-not-a-crush. "Anyway, I've got to run, but it was good to talk to you again, Steve. Really was a great game you played tonight. Don't forget to let me know how that thing actually works."

"I won't," Steve promises. "Have a good night, Tony." 

When Steve goes to put the device back in the box after Tony leaves, he notices a slip of paper at the bottom of it with red writing that reads, "Thank you for having faith in me - TS."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's subscribed/bookmarked/given kudos/commented/read this fic!
> 
> Chapter title is a Thomas Rhett song - Make Me Wanna.


	6. Adore You

Steve sends a text to Tony immediately after trying out the tracker during the team’s morning skate. The phone number had been on the bottom of the paper inside the tracker’s box, and Steve was half excited, half nervous to have it. It felt like such a privilege to receive it, and if Tony hadn’t specifically requested feedback before he left the locker room the other night, Steve might never use it out of fear of abusing that privilege. But Steve needed to tell him about how perfect the tracker was. It gave data for things Steve had never thought about, and though he couldn’t be sure, the accuracy seemed incredible.

Tony sends a reply quickly, _Would you mind meeting up with me to talk about it? Are you free right now?_

Another one follows immediately, _No worries if you aren’t._

 _Leaving morning skate. Where do you want to meet?_ Steve writes back. He zips up his duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder. He almost walks right out of the room to his car before he remembers to wait for Bucky, who’s still getting dressed.

_Stark Tower. Floor 79. Tell the front desk your name._

His place? Steve panics a little at the thought of getting so close Tony. He vowed after his talk with Bucky to be cooler about it, to just be himself and see where that gets him, but that’s so much easier said than done.

“What’s the matter with you?” Bucky asks.

“What? Nothing.”

Steve sends a text back to Tony, _Be there in 45 minutes_. He turns back to Bucky and says, “Tony invited me to the Tower.”

“You two text now?” Bucky asks. “Since when?”

“Since a minute ago.” Steve puts his phone in his back pocket and leans against the wooden post between his locker and Bucky’s. “He wanted feedback on that thing he gave me.”

Bucky nods, tugging on his shoes. “So are you going to shoot your shot?”

“Shoot my shot?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says as he grabs his own bag and shoves the rest of his things in it. “You know, tell him you’re interested.”

“That’d be kind of a bold move for a meet up about equipment, don’t you think?”

Steve and Bucky wave goodbye to the remaining teammates in the locker room and head out to the underground garage where they park their cars.

“What’s the harm in being a little bold?”

Steve can think of about a hundred ways “a little bold” can go a lot wrong, but he only names one, “Because he could flat out reject me, which would crush my soul, and then it would get awkward to the point that he’d eventually stop talking to me altogether.”

“Seems dramatic,” Bucky says.

“Seems likely.”

“Do we have to have another discussion about self-confidence, Steven?” Bucky asks, making Steve laugh.

“Please, no,” he says with a smile.

They reach their cars, Bucky’s parked right next to his like always. Before Bucky gets into his car, he says, “Good luck with Stark. I believe in you!”

That makes one of them.

//

Steve drives to his own apartment first and walks the remaining three blocks to Stark Tower. He’d been inside the Tower once before, when he’d walked into the lobby just to see what it looked like, then left. Now he walks directly to the front desk and tells the receptionist that he’s here to see Tony.

“Right this way,” she says, taking him through an unmarked door. She presses the button for the private elevator. “Take it to floor 79.”

She leaves him there trying not to think too much about all the things that could happen. At least this time he has a legitimate out, which is the game tonight, the last one in the long home stand. No need to make up an excuse that Tony would just see right through anyway.

The elevator lands him in front of a set of metal doors. He’s contemplating knocking when the doors slide open along their tracks on their own, and Steve is suddenly standing before Tony’s extensive workshop. His eyes don’t know where to focus, where to look first. Everything looks so high tech and sleek, like something straight out of a futuristic sci fi movie. Workbenches line the walls, covered in tools and projects, and the entire room is bathed in a blue tinge from holograms and projections.

“Like what you see?”

Tony appears from underneath an old looking car, and Steve almost has a heart attack at the sight. Tony’s hair is a mess of unruly curled strands, and a black tank top shows off lean, toned biceps and shoulders. Steve has seen a thousand pictures of Tony in the last decade - magazine shoots and paparazzi photos and Instagram posts. But he’d never seen him like this. Steve swallows down the lump in his throat and forces his gaping mouth shut.

“Yeah, um, it’s really cool,” Steve says, taking a deep breath to regain control of his heart rate.

Tony smirks as if he somehow knows exactly where Steve’s mind had been. He wipes his hands on a rag, and gestures for Steve to come farther into the workshop. “I don’t bite. DUM-E might, but I won’t.”

“DUM-E?”

“My robot son,” Tony says, looking every bit like a proud father as he points to a robotic arm on wheels, who in turn moves closer.

“That’s incredible,” Steve tells him.

“He’s a dumbass, but we love him anyway,” he shrugs. Tony gestures through the air, and suddenly a new set of holograms appears in front of them. Steve doesn’t have time to be surprised by them before Tony goes into the questions.

“So what’d you think of the tracker? What needs to be fixed?”

“It was great, Tony. Completely amazing,” Steve says honestly.

“What about the interface for the data? I can change the way it looks, prioritize the data in any way you want. Maybe throw in some graphs with trends to track progress on anything you’re working on,” Tony says, seeming to be talking more to himself than Steve as he continues with ideas. “Could use a similar style for your skates. It wouldn’t take very many adjustments to the existing software, just some programming changes so it forms to the skate’s blade instead of the stick’s. Some more changes for measurements, but all the basic programming is there already. Could have it measure speed and force and - what?”

Steve hadn’t realized he was staring, and his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He couldn’t help it. Listening to Tony talk was very quickly becoming one of Steve’s favorite things. He could have stood there all day and hear Tony talk himself through new ideas.

“Nothing,” Steve says with a reassuring smile. “Keep going.”

Tony looks a little flustered now, though Steve can’t figure out why. “I, uh, think we could get a lot of really useful analytics from the skates, too, is all. But you didn’t come all the way here to listen to me ramble.”

“I don’t mind it,” Steve says softly, trying to sound as sincere as possible so Tony will believe him. They hadn’t spent all that much time together, but Steve had already noticed how self-deprecating Tony could be. For all the confidence he displays to the world, Tony has an insecure streak running through him, too. It makes Steve want to comfort him, spend his days and nights making sure Tony knows his own value.

“What’d you really think of it?” Tony switches gears, back to the original topic.

“I loved it,” Steve tells him again. “It worked better than I could’ve ever imagined. I mean, you gave me data for things I never even thought about asking for.”

“And the interface?”

“I don’t know,” Steve hesitates. “I think it needs more data input. Something to show me averages for other guys so I know where I’m at compared to everyone else.”

Tony nods, “That’s something I can put in there when we implement it across the team. Won’t be a problem.”

“Do you think you could get it to give me defensive data, too? Like poke checks and stuff?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Might be a little harder to get it to recognize the difference between all the moves, but I could make it work. Anything else?” Tony turns to the holograms of the tracker, pulling up new screens to make notes on Steve’s suggestions.

“Nothing,” Steve says. He isn’t ready to go, though, still wanting to hear Tony talk about literally anything, so he asks, “What else are you working on?”

“3D scanning players’ bodies to make custom fit equipment, visors that protect the face without impairing vision, helmets that absorb impact to prevent concussions, and I’m looking into new synthetic materials to make better sticks,” Tony says. He’s intensely focused on the hologram in front of him, already working on the adjustments to the programming of the tracker. He didn’t notice the blend of awe and shock on Steve’s face as he spoke.

“Oh, is that all?” Steve teases. “How is it not done already in the week you’ve had?”

Tony shrugs, “Had some paperwork to do for SI so Pepper wouldn’t kill me.”

“Tony, I’m kidding,” Steve says with a laugh. “I can’t believe you’ve thought of so much already. You’re incredible.”

“Oh, well, I can’t take all the credit. A lot of the ideas were already suggested by other people, I’m just doing it better and faster than they would.”

“I’m seriously blown away,” Steve says. He’s moved closer to Tony without noticing. They’re within inches of each other when Steve realizes it, but he doesn’t move away.

Tony finally looks away from the screen to meet Steve’s gaze. For a second, Steve thinks about actually going for it like Bucky suggested. He wonders what it would be like to just lean forward and close the gap between them, wonders if Tony’s lips are actually as soft as they look. He thinks about how Tony is the perfect height for him to put his arm around, would fit so beautifully with his head on Steve’s chest. He’s small enough for Steve to easily carry to bed, Tony’s legs wrapped around his waist. It’d be so easy, Steve thinks, to just tell him how he feels. So easy to cross that line and see where it takes him. But the moment breaks too soon for Steve to work up the nerve to actually do it.

“You’re such a flatterer, Capsicle.”

Steve laughs, letting the thoughts of romance fall away as quickly as they came. “Capsicle?”

“Yeah, you know. Like popsicle, cause of the ice thing, but captain. You don’t like it?”

“Tony, you can call me anything you want.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t say that,” Tony grins. “I’ll take it as a challenge.”

Tony’s smile is absolutely infectious, and Steve wants to keep it there for as long as possible. “Go for it. Do your worst.”

“Okay, hold on. Give me a minute. It takes time to think of a nickname that’s both accurate and hilarious.”

“Take your time,” Steve says, more than content to watch Tony think. Tony’s fingers tap against the workbench rhythmically as the gears in his mind spin. Steve leans against one elbow, getting a better view of Tony’s face.

“Don’t stare, you’re making it hard to think.”

“Oh,” Steve says, “is my face distracting for you?”

“Absolutely. It’s unfair. Should be illegal for you to look like that while I’m trying to think.”

The open flirting makes Steve’s heart jump, and for the first time he starts to truly believe that he might have a shot. He knows what he says next could be so insanely out of line, but he can’t help it, “Maybe you should cuff me then.”

The look on Tony’s face makes the risk worth it. All he can say is, “Holy shit.”

Steve smiles while Tony opens and closes his mouth like he doesn’t know what to say. He feels proud for being the one to make Tony Stark speechless.

“Sorry, was that unfair, too?” Steve asks, feigning innocence. “Didn’t mean to sidetrack you like that.”

“Of course you didn’t, Sno-Cap. Complete accident, I’m sure,” Tony says, slowly recovering his confidence.

“Sno-Cap? Like the candy?” Steve makes a face.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“Not very accurate,” Steve says, the lighter, playful tone reestablished now. He likes the back and forth they easily have between each other, how the mood can shift in just a single second from thoughtful to friendly to flirty without any tension or break in the natural flow of it.

“Why not? It’s wintery,” Tony argues.

“We play indoors, Tony,” Steve reminds him. “I can’t remember the last time I played hockey in the snow.”

Tony holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, fine. Not my best, I’ll admit it. I’ll think of something better, I swear.”

Tony goes back to thinking, then suggests, “Blade Runner?”

“What?”

“Like the movie. Because you literally walk on blades.”

“Definitely not,” Steve says. Tony’s bottom lip sticks out in a pout, and Steve tries not to laugh at it. He loves how seriously Tony actually seems to be taking this.

“This is a lot harder than it looks, you know,” Tony says.

“Really? Because you’re making it look really hard already,” Steve replies. Tony gives him a light shove on the shoulder, and they’re both laughing now.

“Like you could do any better,” Tony challenges.

Steve knows he really couldn’t, though, so he says, “Nope. Would make a fool of myself if I tried.”

Another voice cuts through the conversation before Tony can respond. “Sir, Ms. Potts would like to remind you that your proposals are still not finished for tomorrow.”

Tony groans while Steve asks, “What the hell was that?”

“My AI, JARVIS,” Tony answers. “He runs everything around here, but his real specialty is interrupting good times with reminders about work.”

Steve smiles, “I guess you need to get back to work for SI, then?”

Tony looks regretful as he says, “Duty calls.”

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Steve says, standing straight again. “I’ve got pregame meetings to get to anyway.”

Steve turns to leave, but Tony’s hand on his arm makes him turn back around. He’s a little awkward as he says, “Thank you for coming here. And for the feedback.”

“Well, thank you for sharing your ideas with me. I’m always available to hear more of them, “ Steve says, hoping Tony will take the hint and reach out again soon.

“I’ll keep you in the loop,” Tony promises. “Good luck tonight. I’ll be watching from here.”

“Then I’ll be sure to put on a clinic out there,” Steve half-jokes. He knows that the idea of Tony watching really will make him play a little harder than usual.

As Steve is walking out of the workshop, Tony calls out, “See you later, Ice Prince.”

“I like that one,” Steve looks over his shoulder to smile at Tony. “Makes me feel regal.”

Tony’s bright laugh is the last thing Steve hears before the doors slide shut behind him, and it replays on a loop in his mind all the way back to his apartment.


	7. When You're Ready (I'm Waiting)

Tony being in California at the same time as the team's west coast road trip is not a coincidence. If anyone, aka Pepper or Rhodey, were to ask him about it, though, he would've pretended that he had no idea that the team was set to spend almost a week in California, would've sworn that he thought that trip was next month. But he really did need to come out to California. He'd been meaning to visit the Los Angeles branch of Stark Industries in person for a while now and spend a few days basking in the warmer West Coast weather, but he would never admit to a soul that he'd purposely scheduled his business trip to coincide with the team’s travel.

Tony walks through the newly renovated Research and Development wing of the LA branch, noting the improved equipment and layout. He’d designed it himself and was proud of how it came together. Pepper walks next to him, heels clicking against the tile floors. Her being in Los Angeles actually was a coincidence of perfect timing in their schedules.

“Did you see the workshop yet?” she asks him, alluding to the space he’d put in specifically for his own projects. He had a basement lab at his Malibu residence, but he didn’t want to drive the 50 minutes out of LA if he had the sudden inspiration to invent while here for work, so he included a much smaller version of the extensive Malibu workshop in the LA Tower. The workshop is highly exclusive, completely off limits to the rest of the staff. Only he and Pepper were given the access codes for it.

“Not yet,” Tony says, heading to the back to take a look at it. “Had to walk around and intimidate some employees first.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, knowing full well that Tony hadn’t intimidated anyone. He wasn’t exactly a foreboding presence. “I’m sure they were terrified.”

“They were quivering with fear.”

“Of someone who isn’t even their boss anymore,” Pepper laughs. “I bet they were.”

“You weren’t there, you don’t know that they weren’t.”

They reach the workshop entrance, and Pepper punches the six digit code into the keypad. She enters in front of him and says, “Looks exactly like your other workshops.”

“It looks good,” Tony says, running his hand over the top of the nearest workbench. He appreciates consistency in his work spaces, likes knowing where everything goes and feeling at home no matter which one he’s in.

“Pretty small,” Pepper points out. It’s easily the smallest of any workshop he’s ever had, even back in the days when he was just getting started with running the company.

“Probably won’t be here much anyway,” he says. There was a time when Tony worked almost exclusively out of California, but after the Tower in New York was finished it became the new headquarters for Stark Industries, and he started spending most of his days there instead.

Pepper pulls her phone from her purse, scrolling through messages and calendar reminders for meetings. “So there’s a board meeting at six. Any chance you want to take care of that one?”

“Sorry, Pep,” Tony says. “I’ve got plans.”

“What plans?” She looks doubtful, but she wasn’t expecting him to say yes, anyway. Even when he was the CEO he barely made it to them. Now as owner and head of R&D, he can leave Pepper to deal with the board in his place.

“Need to talk to Coulson,” he tells her, opening drawers around the workshop to check their contents. “I want to implement the trackers across the team for practices. Obviously don’t really need his approval, but apparently it ruffled some feathers when Steve was using it last week without his knowledge.”

Steve texted him after his third morning skate while using the tracker to let him know that Coulson wasn’t happy about being “kept out of the loop”. Tony couldn’t help but notice that Coulson hadn’t said anything directly to him about it, though. He let Steve be the messenger, which makes Tony feel a little guilty. He doesn’t like the idea of Steve getting in trouble for something he asked him to do.

“He’s mad that you’re helping the players with training?”

“He’s mad that I’m not talking to him about it first,” Tony shrugs. “Which I get, but he doesn’t need to be a dick about it. He could’ve talked to me about it himself, but he went to Steve instead and now Steve feels bad about it when he shouldn’t.”

“Poor Steve,” Pepper teases. “Guess you’ll have to find a way to make it up to him.”

Tony gives her a look, “Don’t say that. You know I’ll take it as a challenge.”

“You take everything as a challenge,” she reminds him. Pepper takes another look at her phone and sighs, "I should go, I have a video conference starting soon.”

"I'll walk with you," Tony says, closing the drawer he had open. Everything with the workshop looked correct, so Tony was done there anyway. They exit the workshop, the doors sliding open automatically for them.

Tony walks her across the floor to the elevator, saying goodbye to Pepper as she takes one of the elevators up to the executive floor and he gets in the other to go back to the main floor. He decides he'll pay Coulson a visit now at the hotel the team is staying at during their four day stint in Los Angeles. Better to get it over with now, he thinks, so he can get back to his Malibu place and spend his evening working on the array of projects he's started for the team. He's finished with the skate tracker and moved on to custom fitting the skates for the best motion and flexibility.

The drive to the hotel is short, and Tony sends a text to Coulson from the parking lot. _I'm outside the hotel. Meet me at the bar in five._

Tony rolls his eyes when Coulson writes back, _Make it the pool deck in one._

He walks through the hotel lobby like he belongs there, head held high. He doesn't know where he's going, but no one else would know it. He spots a sign that points to the pool and follows where it points. He doesn't have to look long for Coulson, who's sitting alone at a poolside table in khaki shorts and a t-shirt with a cocktail in front of him. He looks like every other middle-aged white guy on a vacation, even if his vacation is only the one day the team has off between games.

Tony takes a seat across from him, chair legs scraping loudly against concrete. "Well don't you look relaxed."

Coulson sips his drink in lieu of response, so Tony jumps right into it. "I have some new tech I'd like the team to start using in practice, beginning tomorrow. Trackers for their skates and sticks to monitor every move they make."

Tony lifts the case he'd brought with him, setting it down in front of Coulson. He opens it for him so Coulson can see the small discs, three for each player.

"The blue is for the stick, one red for each skate. They'll put it on the blade and the tracker does the rest. Easy as it gets."

Coulson looks into the case and picks up one of the blue trackers. "And why should we use these?"

"Oh, you want the sales pitch? Really? Okay," Tony says, leaning back in his chair. "Well, Coach you may or may not be aware of the trend towards technology driven analytics in your sport, and given my rather extensive background in tech I’ve been working on new methods of analyzing player movement. The trackers monitor position on ice, speed, shot strength, puck positioning, defensive moves, stopping and starting time, and about a dozen other things, and then it arranges all that data into a very simplistic format to tell you where things can be better and who needs to work on what. All without any extra effort required. It's a win for everyone involved."

Coulson seems to be considering it for a while, then he finishes off his drink and stands from the table. He closes the case and grabs the handle. "We'll test them out tomorrow."

Before he walks away, he says, "Just tell me next time you're testing things out on Rogers. I don't like to be kept in the dark about my own team."

When he says Steve's name, he tilts his head, and Tony's eyes follow the gesture across the pool, where three shirtless men are spread out on lounge chairs. His mouth falls open when he realizes the one on the right end is Steve, and he forgets to say goodbye to Coulson, who walks back inside the hotel, because oh my god he was so right about Steve's chiseled abs.

He's walking toward them before his mind catches up to his feet. Sam is the first to spot Tony, and he elbows Bucky next to him.

Bucky's eyes widen and Tony swears he says "oh shit" under his breath before looking at Steve, whose eyes are closed under sunglasses, and saying too loudly, "Hey, Mr. Stark. Good to see you."

Tony has to stifle a laugh when Steve jumps a little and his hand flies up to take his sunglasses off.

"Barnes, Wilson," he says, nodding at the men. "Nice to see you're enjoying your day off. Didn't mean to interrupt your nap, Cap."

Steve looks embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, no, wasn't napping. Just, uh, relaxing."

Sam laughs at Steve's awkward response and says to him, "Oh my god, dude. Get it together."

Steve glares at him, and Tony is thrilled he chose now to drop by the hotel. He would've hated to miss the sight in front of him. Steve in nothing but red and white striped swim trunks is by far Tony’s favorite look on him, and he knows he'll be thinking about it for weeks.

"Hey, Sam," Bucky says pointedly, "why don't we get a refill on these drinks. Want anything, Steve?"

Sam takes the hint and gets up with Bucky, while Steve shakes his head at the offer. Tony waits until the other men are out of earshot to sit next to Steve in the chair Bucky left.

"So this is what athletes do on their days off?" Tony says, gesturing to the pool in front of him. He notices Bucky and Sam watching them from the pool bar, but ignores them.

"Well, it's not every day we get warm weather during the hockey season," Steve says, seemingly recovered from the initial shock of seeing Tony. "Got to take advantage of it."

"And taking advantage you certainly are," Tony says, stealing a look at Steve's body.

"Can I ask what you're doing here? I mean, it's always good to see you, but last I checked you were in New York."

"Conveniently timed business trip," Tony shrugs at the partial truth. "Needed to drop into the LA branch of SI to check in on the renovations to the research floor."

"And why are you specifically here at the pool of this hotel?"

"Oh, that," Tony says. "Meeting with Coulson. Team's using the trackers from now on."

"That's good to hear. I think the rest of the guys will be really excited. Bucky's been looking forward to it."

Tony takes the mention of Barnes to approach the topic that had been on his mind for a while, and tries to be as casual as possible as he says, "You and Bucky seem really close."

"Yeah," Steve says. "He's my best friend."

Tony's mind clings to the word friend. In the time he'd known Steve, he never actually asked if he was single, and his closeness to Bucky worried Tony when he realized he’d forgotten to ask.

"How long have you known him?"

"Met him junior year of high school," Steve answers. Tony stay quiet to encourage Steve to keep talking, which he does. "I transferred to a new school that had a better hockey team, and Bucky was the captain there. Kind of took me under his wing at the new school. Brought me into his group of friends. We went to college together, too. We were lucky enough to get recruited by the same school. Got separated for a bit by the draft, but Bucky came in a trade a few years later."

Much quieter Steve continues, "He was the first guy I ever came out to."

Tony nods, remembering how it felt to tell Rhodey he was bisexual years ago. It never got easy for Tony to tell people, but the first time felt like he was admitting it to himself for the first time, too.

"Does the rest of the team know about that?"

"Some of them," Steve says. "The ones I knew would be cool about it. Sam, Thor, Scott, Bruce. A couple others maybe. I'm not exactly hiding it from everyone else, I just haven't said it yet. Did you know there aren't any openly gay hockey players? Not even one in the NHL. Feels like a lot of pressure to be the first."

"Do you want to be the first? You don't have to if you don’t want to."

Steve looks a little sad when he says, "I guess I just wish it wasn't even a question. I know I'll do it eventually. I've never really liked trying to be someone I'm not, but I don't know how."

"I wish I could tell you," Tony says. "But the only advice I can give you is to do it on your own terms, whenever it feels right to you. Don't focus so much on being the first. It's not your job to set an example or be a role model. You just need to live your life and find a way to be happy, and if other guys like you feel empowered to be themselves because of it then that's great, too."

"Thanks, Tony," Steve says softly. He laughs suddenly and says, "God, I didn't mean to get so serious. Guess it’s been on my mind a lot lately, though. Sorry for dumping it all on you."

"Don't be. I'm happy you felt like you could tell me about it. Although," Tony adopts a lighter tone to ease the discomfort he knows Steve is feeling, "I was hoping there'd be a little more flirting when I saw that you were shirtless. Can't say it doesn't make my mind go places."

"Well I'm happy you're enjoying the view," Steve says, his laugh more genuine this time.

"Oh, I'm more than enjoying it. I'm considering taking a picture and hanging it in the Tower. I’ve got a Pollock hanging in the living room it could replace."

“You have a Pollock in your living room?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “You want to see it some time?”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says quickly, then seems to realize it was too eager of a response. “Sorry, I’m just really into art. Majored in art history in college.”

Tony loves the eagerness, though. He only owns the art because it’s something to have, something to put in a collection, and Pepper liked the act of collecting them when they lived together. He never cared much for the art itself, hardly ever looked at it. But he liked the idea of Steve looking at it, Steve being in his living room and talking to him about art periods and colors and design.

“Then I’ll have to show you the original Picasso I have at my Malibu house. It’s from his Rose Period, I think,” Tony says.

Steve looks like a kid on Christmas all of the sudden. “Holy shit. Yes, please. I’d love that.”

“We could go now,” Tony offers, keeping his tone casual, as if he often invites people to his house to browse old, expensive artwork. “I was planning on heading back there right now anyway, and you’ve got the rest of the day off, right?”

“Yeah, but isn’t Malibu like an hour from here?”

“Not the way I do it,” Tony says with a grin.

“I don’t know what that could possibly mean,” Steve says.

“You’re about to find out,” Tony replies. He stands from the chair, and reaches his hand out to Steve. “Come on.”

Steve takes his hand to get up, dropping it once he’s out of the lounge chair. “We’re seriously doing this?”

“Yeah, why not?” Tony asks, not actually wanting an answer. He wants to live in this moment for as long as possible without having to think of all the reasons he shouldn’t continue getting close to Steve.

They walk away from the pool, heading back into the hotel hallway, and Tony says, “As much as I hate to say it, you might want to find a shirt before we leave.”

Steve smiles, “My room is on the fifth floor. Meet you back in the lobby in ten?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Tony tells him, watching Steve head for the elevator. As the doors close, Steve still has the traces of his smile on his face, and Tony knows that this is the best idea he’s had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from When You're Ready by Shawn Mendes :)


	8. I Think He Knows

Steve should have known better than to expect something normal from Tony. Although, he supposes that this is normal for someone like him. Normal for someone who’s been a billionaire since birth is different than normal for the rest of the world. But no matter what a helicopter ride from Los Angeles to Malibu feels extreme. 

He is willing to admit, however, that a helicopter is a much more efficient way of traveling. The almost hour long drive turns into 15 minutes suspended above the rest of the world.

As the helicopter lifts into the air, departing from the roof of the LA Stark Tower, Steve feels more nervous than he has in a long time. Flying in a helicopter seems so much different than traveling in an airplane. At least on an airplane Steve is able to close the shade and pretend he isn’t thousands of feet in the air with the very real possibility of death if something goes wrong. The noise of the helicopter makes it impossible for him to pretend, so he tries to relax and enjoy the experience. 

Tony’s done this a million times. Steve could tell immediately from the way he slipped on his headset and buckled himself in with ease before they took off and from the way he’s sitting now, hands in his lap while Steve white-knuckles the armrest between them. 

“Are you okay?” Tony asks through the headset, looking intently at Steve, who nods.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Even with the headset it’s too difficult to have a real conversation, so they fall into silence as the ground whisks by below them. Steve starts to actually relax when he realizes how clearly he can see the entire city and every beautiful thing it has to offer. In the distance, Steve can see the Pacific Ocean nestled behind the skyline, going for hundreds of miles further than he can see. It makes him feel small all of a sudden and in complete awe at the same time. This is so much better than driving, he thinks, and it’s easy for him to get lost in it.

When the helicopter starts to dip lower, sooner than he was expecting, Steve shifts his focus from the horizon to the sight directly below them. Tony referred to it as his “house”, but it’s nothing short of a mansion, sitting on the edge of a bluff overlooking the water. Again Steve realizes he should have been expecting this. 

The helicopter lands on the roof of the mansion, and when the engine shuts off it feels far too quiet. Tony unstraps himself from the seat and takes the headset off, prompting Steve to do the same. Tony says a thank you to the pilot before jumping out. 

Once they’re on solid ground, Tony turns to Steve with a knowing smile, “Did you like it?”

“That was amazing,” Steve tells him. “Absolutely incredible.”

“We’ll have to do it again later in the day some time. You’ll like it even more at sunset.”

It’s the second time that day that Tony has referred to a future “some time”, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat as he says it. He wants that some time so badly, and Tony says it like it’s a promise, like it’s obvious that they’ll be a hundred some times for them.

“I’d love that.”

They walk down a staircase to the top floor of Tony’s home, and once more Steve can’t decide where to look. Artwork hangs in the hallway, and Steve wants to stop and analyze every single one of them. 

Tony must notice Steve’s wandering gaze, and he slows his pace to give him more time to look at everything. Steve’s brain can hardly keep up with all the information its receiving, working double time to process every single aspect of this moment. He wishes he could slow time and stay here for a while, looking at Tony’s home for the first time and trying to use the details to learn more about the other man. 

As they walk down another flight of stairs, these much grander than the stairs to the roof, Steve’s brain finally overloads between Tony’s sudden presence in Los Angeles and the spontaneous helicopter ride and now Tony’s home with all its intricate design. And maybe the overload is a good thing, because he can’t think anymore. He’s just there in Tony’s living room, with Tony looking at him with the prettiest brown eyes he’s ever seen in his life, and it’s all too much, but he doesn’t want it to end or the bubble he’s in to burst. So he follows Tony down another hallway and focuses on nothing but him for the time being. 

“The Picasso’s in my office,” Tony says, pointing in the direction of it. “Just down there.”

Steve nods, not trusting his own ability to speak. Tony opens the door to the office, and there it is, hanging above the large oak desk. They step further into the room, and Steve barely registers what the rest of the room looks like as he stares at the painting. Steve walks behind the desk to get a closer look, resting against it.

“So, Mister Art History, tell me about it,” Tony asks, coming to stand beside him. 

“Definitely his Rose Period,” Steve begins. He works on filtering his thoughts for a moment before continuing, “Somewhere between 1904 and 1906 he switched from dark colors and blues and grays to oranges and reds. Changed the subject matter completely, too. Started painting a lot of circus performers, people he’d observed in Paris. Saltimbanques. That’s what he called them in the titles of his works. It’s said he felt a connection with them, like they were kindred spirits. They represented him in that way, the things he felt about himself and the world.”

“Why’d he switch colors and subjects?” Tony asks, right when Steve was starting to worry that he was saying too much and that Tony wouldn’t really care or listen. 

”His work had a tendency to reflect his emotional state more than anything,” Steve answers, taking his eyes off the painting to look at Tony. “The Blue Period, which was right before this one started when a close friend of his committed suicide. He was depressed, and he wasn’t doing very well as an artist, so he painted in monochrome with blues. His subjects were all sad, too. Homeless people, prostitutes, beggars. A lot of people have spent years analyzing those works for their meaning, but I think at the end of the day he was just in pain and needed to communicate it somehow, to anyone willing to look at it.”

“And then what happened?” Tony’s voice is just barely above a whisper, and Steve notices how close they are to each other now, they’re arms almost touching.

“He met someone. Another artist that he fell in love with. It’s said that she made him happy again, and he changed the tone of his work. She made him see the world in pink and red.”

Tony seems to be thinking that over, looking at Steve with a thoughtful expression on his face. Steve wishes he could hear all those thoughts, know every word that passes through Tony’s head. 

“I think I like Picasso,” Tony says decidedly, with a quick nod. 

“He’s one of my favorites,” Steve agrees. 

They look at the painting together in comfortable silence for a long while, with Steve sneaking sideways glances at Tony every chance he gets. More than once he catches Tony doing the same thing, but neither of them mention it. 

Steve isn’t sure how much time has passed when Tony suddenly turns to Steve and says, “Want to get dinner? There’s a really good Italian place not far from here. We could order in.”

Steve only pretends to think about it, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Tony pulls his phone from his pocket and asks, “What do you want? They have just about everything.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Carbonara,” Tony answers. “Reminds me of home.”

“Then that sounds great.”

There’s an unidentifiable emotion in Tony’s eyes, but it leaves just as quickly as it arrived. Tony places the order on his phone and turns back to Steve. “Living room?”

Steve nods, and as they leave the office he realizes just how much like a date this feels. He can’t really remember his last date, but it was a long time ago and with someone he liked a lot less than he likes Tony. He starts to worry that he’s too out of practice, that he’s forgotten how to do all of this, but then Tony looks at him again, stops walking, and softly asks, “Is this too much?”, and Steve knows that he isn’t alone in the way he’s feeling. 

“Not at all,” he tells him. He wants to reach out to touch him, but doesn’t know if he should, if he’s allowed to do that yet, so he keeps his hands at his side. 

Tony looks at Steve for a while longer. He looks like he wants to say something, but never does. He starts moving again, leading Steve back to the living room. He gestures for Steve to sit on the couch and asks, “Drink?”

“Just water,” Steve says. “I don’t like to drink the day before games.”

Tony looks a little amused by that and says, “Okay, Mr. Responsibility. I guess I should have expected that.”

“Why?” Steve asks, not offended by the remark, but curious. He knows he’s the “responsible one” in almost every situation. Bucky and Sam tease him about it constantly, but he doesn’t know how Tony’s already seen it.

Tony shrugs, making his way into the kitchen that’s right off the living room. He opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of water for Steve before turning to pour his own drink. “It’s just who you are, right? The guy that watches out for his teammates, but never starts the fight himself. You felt bad when Coulson was pissed about the trackers, even though you didn’t actually do anything wrong. You care about doing the right thing, which is why you’re so worried about coming out in the right way. You don’t want to disappoint people, or yourself.”

Tony comes back into the living room, drinks in hand, and continues, “Didn’t mean to offend you or anything, Cap. Just saying it makes sense, is all.”

“Not offended,” Steve says, taking the water from Tony. He sits on the couch next to Steve, leaving a couple feet of distance between them. “Just kind of surprise you noticed all that.”

“I’m an observant guy,” Tony shrugs again. There’s a moment of awkwardness as silence settles in, but Tony saves it by prompting, “So, tell me something about you that I haven’t heard yet.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Last guy you dated, what was he like?” Tony asks, the question coming quick enough that Steve guesses it had been on Tony’s mind for a while now, waiting for the opportunity to be asked.

“It was a long time ago,” Steve says. “We broke up about a year and a half ago, after eight months together.”

“Well isn’t that the bare minimum of information,” Tony says, making Steve laugh. Tony sets his drink down on the coffee table and shifts a little closer. 

“Not a lot to tell about it. He was nice, and I liked him, but it just never felt very serious. I couldn’t imagine a life with him, couldn’t see anything happening in the long-term, so we broke up. Wasn’t a bad breakup or anything. It was probably the lamest break up in history, actually. It just ended and that was that.”

“So why no one else since then?”

“I’ve been on dates,” Steve says. He takes a long drink from his water as he decides what to share and what to leave out. “They haven’t been all that great. Hadn’t really met someone that makes me want to see them a second time, let alone start up an actual relationship. And I’m so busy during the season that it’s hard to really get out there, anyway. What about you? Who was the last person?”

Tony takes a deep breath before he answers, “Pepper. Long time ago for me, too. She was great, still is great, but I’m kind of a lot for most people. Should probably warn you about that. I talk too much and work too much and don’t really let that many people in. More than one person has called me arrogant in the last week alone. But Pepper and I just weren’t a good fit. We’re both a little too fiery, a little too intense when it came to arguments. We’d always end up saying things we didn’t mean, and eventually we reached a point when we realized we were better off as friends. And we are friends now. We still work well together, and she’s still the first person I tell everything to, besides Rhodey, but we weren’t good in a relationship.”

“Who’s Rhodey?”

“Colonel James Rhodes, United States Air Force,” Tony says, a fondness taking over his face. “But I call him Rhodey, amongst a variety of other names. I’ve known him since college, just about thirty years now. First real friend I ever had, and the absolute best one at that.”

“You didn’t have a real friend until college?” The question is out of Steve’s mouth before he realizes how insensitive it sounds. Tony answers before he can take it back, seeming unaffected by the blunt question.

“Other kids never really liked me. The whole loud and annoying thing, remember? Plus I skipped a lot of grades so I was a lot younger than everyone in my high school,” Tony says. “Went to MIT at 14 and Rhodey was like the older brother I never had. He watched out for me, didn’t let anyone make fun of me. He’s always had my back, and he’s the one guy I’ve always known wasn’t hanging around me just for my name.”

“So he’s your Bucky?”

Tony laughs, “Yeah, I guess so. Except he’s better. Not that it’s competition. But he is.”

“Sounds pretty competitive,” Steve says, smiling at the sound of Tony’s laughter.

“Not at all. Just a statement of facts.”

Tony picks up his drink from the table, and Steve looks at the way Tony’s fingers curl around the glass. His mind can’t help but wander as he stares, drifting momentarily into thoughts that make his face feel hot. If Tony sees the blush, he doesn’t comment on it, just thankfully changes the subject with ease.

“So why hockey? Why’d you start playing?”

“My dad,” Steve says. “I never met him, but my mom used to tell me about him all the time. He loved hockey. He wanted to be a pro himself but never got there. He joined the army instead, died in Desert Storm a few months before I was born. I guess I started because I wanted to feel closer to him, even though I never actually knew him. Then I kept going because I loved it. I like being part of a team, being part of something bigger than just me. My ma did everything she could to make sure I had opportunities to play. Made sure I was on good teams and had good equipment, even when we could barely afford rent. I almost quit in college, after my ma died, but I knew she would hate that. She was always so proud of me when I played. She’d tell everyone she knew about how good I was, how she knew I’d make it to the NHL one day. Couldn’t let her down after all that. She’s the reason I wear number 13, by the way. She picked it out for me when I first got started. I was pretty scrawny back then, got bullied for how little I was, felt like I was always against the odds. That’s why she picked it, because people think it’s unlucky and that’s what a lot of people used to think about me. She was always into symbolism like that. Made me like it, too.” 

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Tony says quietly. 

Steve shrugs, “It’s been a long time.”

“But it never really stops hurting, does it?”

“No,” Steve answers. “It never does. You just think about it a little less.”

Tony’s quiet for a moment, before saying, “Okay, new less depressing topic: what’s your favorite color?”

“My favorite color?” Steve is so caught off guard by the question that he laughs. “Islanders’ blue. Yours?”

“Bright red. The most obnoxious color possible.”

“Stands out in a crowd,” Steve agrees. 

"I'll never get lost," Tony grins. He readjusts his position so his arm is on the back of the couch, chin resting on his hand. "What's the worst movie you've ever seen?"

"Oh, god," Steve says. "I don't know. Probably any horror movie Bucky's ever made me watch. They’re all bad."

"Not a fan of horror, Captain?"

"Hell no. They're predictable."

"And other movies aren't?" Tony asks, eyebrows raised. "Have you ever seen a romantic comedy? They all end the exact same."

"First of all, that's not true. Second of all, romantic comedies are about the journey, Tony. No one wants to invest their time in a couple for them not to get together in the end. It’s all about watching how they get together," Steve argues.

"You're making me afraid to ask what your favorite movie is."

"Notting Hill." 

Tony blinks slowly, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I like it," Steve says. "You don't?"

"I've never seen it," Tony admits.

"Never? It's iconic, Tony," Steve chastises. More dramatically, with his hand over his heart, he quotes, "'I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.'"

"Am I supposed to know that line?"

“Everyone knows that line! It’s one of the most famous movie lines from any romantic comedy!”

“‘Paint me like one of your French girls’ and ‘nobody puts Baby in a corner’, those are famous lines. I’ve never even heard yours before,” Tony argues back. 

Steve laughs, loving the way Tony says the movie lines, with so much more vigor than they were originally intended. Tony called himself “too much” earlier, but Steve enjoys every second of the way Tony seems to be able to get passionate over just about anything, even a movie genre he claims not to like. He keeps things interesting, keeps Steve guessing at what he’ll say next. 

“Fine,” Steve says. “Maybe it’s not as famous as those ones, but most people still know it. You just need to brush up on your rom coms.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to watch them with me some time,” Tony says, looking at Steve with bright eyes that betray more emotion than he probably realizes. And then there’s those words again. Some time. 

“We’ll watch all the ones you haven’t seen,” Steve promises. “Every single one of them.”

“I look forward to it.” Tony’s voice sounds so sincere it hurts.

Steve says his next words before he has a chance to overthink them, “It’s a date, then.”

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but the doorbell rings and interrupts him, making him frown instantly. He gets up from the couch and opens the door for the food delivery, and Steve is a little thankful for the moment to collect himself that the break in conversation gives him.

When he comes back, Tony sets the bag on the table and hands Steve one of the three takeout containers, taking another for himself. Steve looks at the third smaller one that’s left in the bag, and Tony answers the unspoken question, “Dessert.”

Tony hands him a plastic fork, and Steve takes his first bite and almost moans. “Okay, you were right. This is incredible.”

“I’m always right, Cap,” Tony says. “About everything.”

“I believe you,” Steve responds. He can’t remember the last time he’s had carbonara, especially one this good. It reminds him of the Italian restaurants he used to eat at growing up in Brooklyn, when his mom would take him out on special occasions. Then he remembers to ask, “Why does carbonara remind you of home?”

“It was the only thing my mother knew how to make,” Tony says, slurping up a noodle. “We had cooks when I was a kid, so she didn’t make it very often, but every once and a while she’d make it just for me. This is almost as good as hers was.”

“Were you close with your mother?” Steve asks. He, along with the rest of the world, knows what happened to Tony’s parents. It made headlines when they died in a car crash years ago, when Tony was 21 and Steve was still in middle school. But Tony didn’t talk about it to the press back then. Steve remembers reading the stories like everyone else, remembers how Tony stayed away from the press until he was ready to take over the company, then never spoke about his parents publicly.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “I didn’t really have a good relationship with my father. He was short-tempered and drank too much and didn’t really care about taking care of a kid. But my mother was always loving. I always knew she cared, never doubted it once. I guess we weren’t exactly close in the way you probably mean. I didn’t think of her as a friend, wouldn’t even say that I told her much of anything growing up. But it really hurt when I lost her.”

Steves nods, understanding the feeling. “I was close to my ma. She was always the first person I told things to, especially when I was really young and friends were hard to come by. That’s when it sucks the most these days, when I wish I could tell her about everything that’s happening. She was good at advice.”

“Mothers always are,” Tony says with a soft smile at the bittersweet memories. He removes the thoughtful tone in his voice as he questions, “How the hell did we cycle right back to depressing, Steven?”

Steve laughs and holds up a hand in mock surrender, “Sorry, that one’s on me. Completely my fault.”

Steve likes the way his full name sounds when Tony says it. He’s never been a fan of it, or the way it only seems to come out when someone is trying to annoy him or make fun of him, but from Tony it sounds nice. Maybe because he knows that there’s not an ounce of malicious intent behind it.

“Now I have to change the subject again,” Tony says, his annoyance at the idea completely fabricated. “And I have to ask you what your favorite holiday is.”

“Is it self-absorbed to say the fourth of July because it’s also my birthday?” Steve asks in return.

“No, it’s like a two-for-one deal,” Tony replies. “I like Halloween. For the parties.”

“I like it, too. Bucky and I do a costume together every year. It’s not as weird as it sounds, I swear. We were Batman and Robin last year. I think the year before was Men in Black, and before that was Mario and Luigi.”

“God,” Tony laughs. “You would do that. Were you Mario or Luigi?”

“Luigi. Bucky really wanted to be Mario. I got to be Batman, though.”

“I expected nothing else,” Tony says. “He’s an orphan with a strong moral code. You had to be him.”

“What were you last Halloween?”

Tony frowns again. “I have no clue. Don’t remember it at all. I’ve never done a costume with someone before, though. Rhodey doesn’t like Halloween.”

“Well the team’s already talked about doing boy bands next Halloween if you want in on that,” Steve offers. “I already claimed Justin Timberlake and Bucky is Lance Bass, but JC is still up for grabs.”

“You think I’d be the JC of the group? I’m clearly the frontman.”

Steve laughs and says, “Of course, how could I forget?”

They fall into an easy back and forth, throwing out the names of 90s boy band members until there aren’t anymore they can think of. Then Steve says, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Ask away.”

Steve puts his empty takeout box on the coffee table, next to the one Tony already abandoned there. He hesitates and almost changes his mind, but he really wants the answer, “Is this a date?”

If Tony is surprised by the question he doesn’t show it. He just asks, “Do you want it to be?”

Steve knows the answer, has known it since their first meeting. “Yes.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Tony says, like it really is that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift!


	9. Please Forgive Me I've Got Demons In My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper is a good friend. Steve and Tony confess a lot of things.

“Am I crazy, Pep?” Tony asks his friend, walking back and forth manically in front of her desk. He came in five minutes ago and started pacing while Pepper sat back and waited for him to start talking. She was used to things like this, Tony freaking out about something that didn’t necessarily warrant it. She hardly reacted to it anymore, just gave him the advice he needed to calm down. She was his go to for just that reason. 

“I thought we already agreed on the answer to that particular question,” Pepper says, answering emails and filtering through meeting requests while Tony continues to pace. “But why are you crazy this time?”

Tony sits across from her now, leaning forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. “I went on a date with Steve.”

That gets Pepper to look away from her computer and stare at him with shock. “You did what?”

“It didn’t start as a date, in my defense. It was an accident.”

“An accidental date?” Pepper looks doubtful. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“It was Steve’s fault!” he exclaims, and Pepper gives him another look. “Okay, okay, fine. It was my fault. But he asked! We were having dinner and he’s the one that asked if it was a date and he said he wanted it to be one. You know what, I take it back. It was his fault.”

“Could you at least start from the beginning? When was this?”

“Last week in LA.”

“It’s been a week, and you’re just freaking out about it now?” 

Tony sighs and gets back up, resuming his pacing. He uses hand gestures liberally as he explains, “I didn’t have time to freak out last week. You know how you do things on vacation that you would never do normally? Because everything feels different, and there aren’t any rules on vacation. You can ask really nice guys with washboard abs to come back to your place to look at a Picasso painting and tell them all about your exes and your parents and your favorite color because why not? And you can spend the rest of the week flirting with him in texts and making plans to watch all of his favorite movies together and maybe imply that it’ll go a lot further than that. But then you get back to New York, and now it’s real and scary and I don’t think I should have done any of it. I should’ve walked away when I saw him and not looked at the pictures of his Halloween costumes because now I’m thinking about how fucking hot he looked as Batman. Which was really, really hot, Pep. I’m going to be having sex dreams about it for the rest of my life, I swear.”

“That is…” Pepper searches for the words. “So much to unpack. But first of all, can you stop pacing and just sit down?”

Tony practically collapses in the chair, and he says, “My life is in shambles.” 

“Okay, maybe tone down the theatrics a bit. Your life is just fine.”

“Shambles,” he repeats, looking at her with the saddest eyes he can muster. 

Pepper gets up from her desk and comes to sit beside him. She’s the picture of prim and proper in her form-fitting dress and heels, especially compared to Tony, who is sinking deeper into the chair every second. 

“I thought you wanted it to be real, Tony? What happened to that?”

“I did,” he tells her. “I do. It’s just...”

Tony trails off, trying to find the right way to explain the million emotions swimming around in his mind right now, all the thoughts that made it nearly impossible for him to sleep the night before.

“You know me, Pep. I’m not good at this. And it’s more complicated with Steve than it’s been with anyone else. I know how stupid it sounds but he makes me want to do this right. I don’t want to screw it up like I always do, but I know myself. I’ll fuck it up, just like I fucked us up,” Tony says, looking out Pepper’s office window to avoid her eyes. “And I already know what the press is going to say about it. He’s younger than me and hotter than me, and it’s all anyone is going to focus on. I don’t want him to feel forced to come out, either, because I know he wants to do it right, whatever that means for him. And then it will all end with Steve hating me.”

Tony takes a deep breath after everything comes out. He can’t tell what’s a valid concern and what’s just his mind creating worst case scenarios anymore. But he stills knows at least one thing is true, “He just deserves better.”

Pepper takes both of his hands in hers, tugging on him until he sits up straight in the chair. She keeps holding them as she says, “Tony, do you know why we didn’t work out?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Because I fucked it up.”

“No, Tony. You never did anything wrong. You never made me feel like I was with someone less than what I deserved. You definitely didn’t screw it up. You’re a good guy, Tony. You make the people around you feel like they matter. We didn’t work because we just weren’t the right people for each other, and I think you know that. I think yesterday you probably would have said the exact same thing. You’re just spiraling because you’re scared of how happy Steve actually makes you, and it’s in your nature to self-destruct before anybody can hurt you” Pepper is speaking so softly that it makes Tony believe her. They don’t talk like this often, so Tony knows she means it.

“I don’t want him to walk away when it gets messy,” Tony says. “Because it’s going to get messy. It’s inevitable.”

“Yeah,” Pepper agrees. “But you know you could just talk to him about it? Tell him everything you just said to me instead of barging in my office.”

“You want me to talk about my feelings? To a guy I want to date? That’s terrible advice, Pepper.” 

Pepper laughs at him and says, “I know, isn’t it awful to actually have to communicate like an adult?”

Tony gets up again, walking around the office, but no longer at the same frenzied pace as before. He feels much more at ease than when he came in, though there are still a hundred things he’s worried about.

“The problem is, though, that Steve’s in Nevada,” Tony says. “So I actually can’t talk to him about it, even if I wanted to. Loophole.”

“There’s no loopholes for communication, Tony,” Pepper says with a laugh. “When does he come back?”

Tony shrugs, pretending he doesn’t know the exact date and time the flight back to New York is scheduled to land. “Saturday, I think. They play Vegas on Friday.”

“So I guess you’ll have to talk to him then. I’ll add your next emotional breakdown to my calendar for Saturday night,” she teases. 

“Yeah, that’s wise,” he agrees, stopping in front of her and taking her hand. Earnestly he adds, “Thank you, Pep.”

“Any time, Tony.”

//

Steve drops his bags on the wood floor of the entryway of his apartment with a heavy sigh. As much as he loves being able to play hockey, long road trips still drain him every time. He always misses New York and doesn’t sleep very well in hotel rooms. He never quite gets used to them, no matter how long the trip is.

He gets in the shower, washing off the feeling of airplanes and buses and beds that aren’t his own. He’s toweling off when he hears the doorbell ring. He curses under his breath, rushing to find a pair of clean boxers and sweatpants. The doorbell rings again, and Steve jogs down the stairs to answer it. 

Tony is standing on Steve’s stoop, in an old band t-shirt, black jeans and jacket, and dark tinted sunglasses. Steve can’t even say hello before Tony starts talking, “Hey, so there’s something, well a few things, actually, that I wanted to -” He cuts off suddenly, taking his sunglasses off. 

“Oh, god. This is -” Tony looks between Steve’s bare, still damp chest and his face. “That is a lot to process. Did you grow a beard? In the week and a half since I last saw you? Is that even possible? And do you really have to be shirtless every time now? Jesus, this is - this is going really bad, oh my god.”

A blush spreads across Tony’s face, and Steve smiles, loving the effect he’s having on Tony. “Do you want to come in? It’s kind of cold, and apparently you have a lot of things to say.” 

“Um, yeah. That would be good.”

Steve leads Tony into the living room, “I’m going to go find a shirt. Wait right here.”

“If you must,” Tony says, walking up to the fireplace where Steve has framed photos sitting on the mantle. He picks one up as Steve heads upstairs. 

When he comes back, Tony has moved to sit on the couch, jacket tossed over a chair, and he’s looking around the room like he’s trying to memorize it.

“So,” Steve begins, sitting next to him. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that there are some things I think we should talk about, but now I want to talk about that picture of you and Bucky you have over there,” Tony says, pointing at one of the frames.

Steve knows the one he’s referring to without looking where he’s pointing It’s one of him and Bucky in college at a football tailgate, Steve decked out in school gear, complete with face paint and a foam finger, while Bucky laughs next to him in his regular clothes. “I lost a bet. Don’t ask.”

“But I have so many questions,” Tony complains.

Steve can tell that he’s stalling, so he asks, “What’s on your mind, Tony?”

Tony sighs, “Well, it’s kind of dumb, but I’ve recently been informed that communicating is what adults do, so I’m giving it a shot, and I’m just going to say the long list of everything that I’m thinking, and you can do whatever you want with it. But if it doesn’t work, you can blame Pepper. It’s all her fault for suggesting this.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Here it goes,” Tony takes a long breath. The rest of his words come out quickly, like one long sentence, “I’m afraid of dating you for about a hundred different reasons. I don’t think I’m very good at relationships. I have a tendency to drive people insane and push them away. I’m not usually good at talking about my feelings, and some people might say that I have intimacy issues. I also think you’re so, so much better than anything I deserve, and that thought is never going to go away. And honestly, maybe the worst one is that I’m kind of your boss, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t walk away from this and say no. I don’t want there to be some weird power dynamics thing happening between us. I want you to be able to say whatever the hell you want to me and fight with me if you have to without having that hanging over us. It’s just, I know there’s a reason that rules against that kind of thing usually exist, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of the situation. And you should also know that I’m kryptonite for other people’s reputations. People are going to take one look at us and judge it, and they’re not going to be afraid to say what they think right to your face or online and I’m not really sure you know how bad it can get sometimes. I don’t know if you’re ready for that kind of thing, or if I’m even ready to go through it again. And - well I guess that’s really it.”

“So that’s a lot,” Steve says, his brain still trying to process all of it. Tony’s been looking at his hands for most of his speech, and Steve tilts Tony’s chin up with one finger to look at him. “But I do have answers for almost all of them, if you want to hear them?”

Tony nods, and Steve decides that if Tony can take the step to be vulnerable with him like this, then he can be brave enough to lay it all out on the line, too. “I like you. I like spending time with you and listening to you talk about tech, listening to you talk about anything, really. I think it’s really cute when you ramble, by the way. I like it when it’s just the two of us, and I feel like I can tell you just about anything for some reason, even though I haven’t actually known you for that long. I’m not good at relationships, either, and I’m not ready for the whole world to know about us. I have no idea when I will be ready for that, because there’s a lot of issues that come along with that, but I do know that we’ll get there eventually. You should know that I really don’t care that you own the team. It doesn’t even make the top ten on my own list of reasons I’m afraid of this. I know you’re not the kind of guy to do something spiteful because we got into a fight or we broke up. The thought’s barely crossed my mind before right now. I don’t know if anything I’m saying really helps, but I just really need you to know that I want this so much that it scares me, too.”

Tony’s quiet, and Steve worries that he’s said all the wrong things and ruined this after it’s only just begun. But then Tony asks, “Do you want to watch a movie?”, and Steve smiles, knowing that everything is okay. 

“Only if it’s Notting Hill,” Steve replies. 

“Fine,” Tony rolls his eyes. “But only because you said nice things to me.”

Steve laughs and stands from the couch. He walks to the bookshelf that’s behind the couch, grabbing the DVD. His back is turned to Tony as he puts it in and grabs the remote, and by the time he’s turned around Tony has pulled the blanket that was on the back of the couch down, cocooning himself in it. Steve knows he has a ridiculous smile on his face, but he can’t help it. The sight is just too much for him - Tony sitting cross legged with the blanket pulled around his head and body so only his face is showing.

“What?” Tony asks. “I like to be cozy.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve says. He sits on the couch, positioning himself with his back in the corner and his feet on the coffee table. He puts his arm on the back of the cushion in a silent invitation, letting Tony decide how close he wants to be.

Steve presses play on the movie, and by the time Hugh Grant is spilling orange juice on Julia Roberts Tony’s head is on Steve’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter is going to be really cute and fluffy after this heavier one.
> 
> Chapter title is from demons by Hayley Kiyoko


	10. Crashing Into You

In terms of best days of his life, Tony thinks that this one might be up there, at least in the top ten list. Maybe even top five, if he just thinks about the days when he felt his happiest, his most carefree. Tony knew it the second Steve answered the phone that morning, and he got to hear the way Steve’s voice sounds when he’s just barely awake. It’s the best sound he’s ever heard, he thought immediately, and he wondered how it might feel to be with him the next time he hears it. The thought gave him butterflies, and he didn’t know those were something he could still feel. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you up,” Tony says, realizing he didn’t even check the clock before calling. He looks up at the clock on the workshop wall. 8:14, which isn’t too bad.

“You didn’t,” Steve says, but he yawns and Tony knows he’s lying. “What’s up?”

“Can you teach me how to ice skate? And maybe how to use a hockey stick, too,” Tony asks.

“Of course I can, but do you think I could get a little context?”

Tony tosses the device he’s holding onto the workbench, giving up on it for now. “I’m working on some new designs, but the problem is I don’t know how anything is supposed to feel. I could put on some skates and teach myself, but I’d probably fall, and this face is just too pretty to wreck like that. So ice skating lessons from my hot boyfriend sounds like the better option.”

He wasn’t sure if “boyfriend” was a word they were using yet, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. Just the opposite, in fact. Tony can almost hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he says, “Well if my hot boyfriend can get us access to the practice ice, we can do it right now.” 

“Hm, I bet he can manage that,” Tony says. He closes down the hologram in front of him and puts his tablet away. “Meet you at your place in 45 minutes? I’ll bring breakfast.”

“See you then.”

Tony hangs up the phone and looks down at his appearance. He isn’t sure how long this last workshop binge lasted, and he could ask JARVIS, who would gladly tell him in that condescending tone of his, but sometimes ignorance really is bliss. However long it was, he knows he needs a shower and clean clothes.

He shows up on Steve’s stoop 40 minutes later, early for the first time in years and smelling of his best cologne. He rings the doorbell with his elbow, awkwardly trying to juggle two trays of drinks stacked on top of each other and an overstuffed bag of pastries and bagels.

Steve answers the door with a smile that makes Tony’s knees feel weak, and he’s dressed in a sweater that looks impossibly good on him. He takes the trays from Tony and says, “You know there’s only two of us, right?”

“Yes, Cap, I am aware of that fact.” He follows Steve into the kitchen, setting the bag on the island. “But I realized that I don’t know how you take your coffee. No idea if you like cream or sugar or if you’re one of those people that likes the sugary flavored ones. And then I thought: oh, god, what if he doesn’t like coffee at all? What if he’s a complete heathen and his one flaw is his hatred for coffee? Which is how we ended up here, with one coffee with cream and sugar, one with hazelnut, a green tea, a black tea, a cappuccino and a latte, in case you like that kind of thing, and two black coffees, but one of those is for me.”

Steve nods, accepting the answer, and he reaches for the coffee with cream and sugar. “For future reference, I keep it pretty simple.” He looks at the bag of food and says, “I’m going to guess the same thing happened there.”

“In hindsight, I should have just called again,” Tony says. “But now you have a lot of snacks for later.”

Steve opens the bag, pulling out a danish while Tony jumps up to sit on the kitchen counter. Steve leans on the island across from him. “So you’ve really never gone ice skating before?”

“Nope,” he says. He steals a piece of Steve’s danish, and Steve lets him, smiling as Tony takes it. “Never did the whole sports thing. But that’s actually good, because now you get to do that thing where you show me how to use a hockey stick with your arms around me. You know, the whole rom com thing that you like. My inexperience is a real win for both of us, if you think about it.”

“Oh I’m definitely going to be doing that thing,” Steve says. “Every chance I get.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Steve finishes the rest of the danish and takes a long drink of coffee, then asks, “Ready to go?”

Tony nods, hopping down from the counter. They leave the other drinks and pastries in the kitchen as they walk outside to where Tony’s car is parked at the curb. 

The drive is quiet, almost awkwardly so, until Steve reaches over and puts his hand on Tony’s knee. Tony looks over at him, from the corner of his eye, but Steve is looking out his window, pretending it isn’t a big deal even as a hint of a smile appears on his lips. Tony says nothing, just takes Steve’s hand in his own for the rest of the drive.

They walk into the arena through the players’ entrance, saying hello to the security guards there, and make their way to the lower level practice ice. Tony called the equipment manager this morning and asked for skates, sticks, and pucks for the two of them to be waiting on the players’ bench, so everything is ready for them.

Steve grabs his pair and sits on the bench. He starts lacing them up while Tony’s still tugging his over his feet. They’re a little uncomfortable, and he doesn’t know how to lace them properly but doesn’t want to ask. He does his best until Steve says, “Here, let me.”

He moves to kneel in front of Tony, taking the laces into his hands. Adept fingers pull on the laces, slotting them through with ease, and there’s something so innocently intimate about it that Tony no longer feels embarrassed at not being able to do it himself.

“Thank you,” he says quietly when Steve is finished. He stands up and reaches his hand out to Tony, helping him to his feet. Tony wobbles on the blades, and he reflexively reaches out to grab Steve’s shoulder with his free hand. 

“How the hell do you do this?” Tony asks, taking small steps forward while continuing to hold his arm, making Steve walk backwards towards the ice. 

“Years and years of practice,” Steve replies. Steve goes onto the ice, and he takes Tony’s other hand. “I’ve got you.”

“You going to catch me if I fall?” Tony asks. His tone is light, joking, even, but he’s actually concerned about it.

“Always,” Steve says, helping Tony onto the ice. Tony almost falls the seconds his skates his the ice, but Steve holds him steady. 

“How about I hold your hands and pull you along for a bit? Just until you feel like you’re not going to fall,” Steve suggests. Tony nods, letting Steve take him to one end of the ice, then down to the other, where they stop in front of the boards. 

“Are you feeling more balanced?” Steve asks. 

“I’m better. Not great, but better.”

Steve lets go of one hand, waits a second to make sure Tony doesn’t fall, then drops the other. They stand there, with Tony’s arms stretched out to the side for balance, while Steve explains, “So I’ve never taught anyone else to skate before, but I think the easiest way to get you started might be to talk about the mechanics of it. It’s all about where you apply pressure, and the shapes you make with your feet. Your force has to come mostly from your knees.”

Steve arranges his feet on the ice, showing Tony the pose to start from. “So to actually skate, you’re going to start like this. Keep your arms out to the side. Yeah, just like that. Your back should be arched a bit. That’s good. Put your weight on your back leg, and push off of it to move.”

Tony hesitates to actually move, until Steve moves back a few feet and says, “Just do it once and then try to glide to me. I won’t let you fall.”

Tony pushes off his back leg with all of the force he can and glides quickly toward Steve on wobbly legs. He collides right into Steve’s chest, unable to control his momentum. Steve, true to his word, catches him. “Okay so maybe a little less force next time,” Steve says softly, still holding Tony close. “At least until you learn how to stop.”

Tony hums in agreement, neither one of them making the move to pull away, not that Tony would know how to on his skates, even if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want to, not at all. He wants to stay this close for as long as possible, keeping Steve’s impossibly blue eyes on him. Steve looks at him like he’s something worth looking at, like he’s something to behold, and Tony isn’t sure that anyone has ever looked at him quite like that before.

Steve’s hand moves up Tony’s body slowly, like he’s waiting for Tony to pull back or tell him to stop. When Tony does neither, Steve reaches up, tracing Tony’s jawline with his thumb. Steve’s hands are rough and calloused, but Tony loves the feel of it. Steve glances down at Tony’s lips, then back at his eyes in a silent question that Tony answers by closing the distance between them. 

At first, Steve kisses him like he’s delicate, like he might break from the touch, and Tony thinks that there’s a very real chance that he just might if Steve keeps touching him like that, feather light and adoring. But the last month of build up escalates things, and Tony’s hands wander from Steve’s arms. One lands at the small of his back, the other moving up to the base of his neck, tugging lightly on the short hair there. He sucks gently on Steve’s lower lip, testing for the response, seeing what Steve likes, and elicits a sound so sweet that it makes him do it again. 

Then Tony starts to lose his balance, skates sliding forward between Steve’s legs as he falls back. With an arm still wrapped around him, Steve pulls him up before he can fall completely, and they both dissolve into laughter.

“Damn skates,” Tony says, clinging to Steve’s arms for balance again. “Ruined a perfectly good moment.”

“Still a great moment,” Steve replies, moving his hands to hold Tony’s waist. He leans in again, lips gentle against Tony’s own. Their second kiss is short and almost chaste compared to their first, but Tony has to pull back before he risks falling again.

Steve takes his hand again. “Come on, let’s do a lap together.”

Tony manages the first lap while falling only three times. He takes that as an accomplishment and goes for a second lap. But then he gets overconfident and lets go of Steve’s hand, and Steve isn’t quite fast enough to save him from landing with a thud on the ice. When he gets up, he decides, “Okay, I think I’ve had enough ice skating for one day. Better quit before I break something. And I’m too tired to skate back to the bench. You’ll have to carry me.”

Tony was joking, expecting Steve to laugh and call him dramatic, or maybe pull him along like he did in the beginning. He definitely wasn’t expecting Steve to pick him up and hold him with strong hands pressed into his thighs. 

“God,” Tony says, feeling breathless as he wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, careful not to touch him with the blades. “That was crazy hot.”

He presses light kisses to Steve’s forehead, nose, cheeks, and anything else he can reach from his position while Steve laughs and skates both of them off the ice. He puts him down on the bench, bending over to unlace his skates for him.

“I still have to show you how to shoot a puck,” Steve reminds him. “But you can do that in your own shoes.”

Handing a stick to Tony, Steve grabs a stack of pucks, and they go back onto the ice. With Steve still in skates and Tony in his regular shoes, their height difference grows by a few inches, and Tony feels even smaller next to Steve.

“You know, this is a lot easier than being on skates,” Tony says, a little surprised at how easy it is to walk across the ice without skates. He was expecting it to be slippery, but somehow it isn’t.

They stop a few feet in front of the net, halfway to center ice. Steve drops one of the pucks in front of them, setting the rest to the side. Handing Steve the stick, Tony says, “Show me. I want to see it up close.”

“You got it,” Steve replies. 

Tony watches Steve line up behind the puck and slap the shot directly into the center of the net, the puck moving in a blur. Steve retrieves the puck and drops it in front of Tony, holding the stick out. With a smile he says, “Your turn.”

“Yeah, I’ll just follow that up,” Tony says dryly. He takes the stick and remembers his conversation with Steve that morning. He purposely grabs the stick wrong and winks when he says, “I think you’re going to have to show me, Ice Prince.”

Steve grins at the name and wraps his arms around Tony, leaning over and pressing against Tony’s back. His voice is right in Tony’s ear, seductively low as he says, “So you’re going to put your hands right there. Yeah, just like that with your right hand on top for better control. Other one about halfway down. Perfect. Bend your knees a little more. When you hit the puck, try to hit it with the middle part of the blade, right where the tape is.”

It’s really not very complicated. Steve could have very easily just pointed to where his hands should be, but where’s the fun in that? Tony leans back into Steve’s touch, and he swears he’s never felt so content in his life to just be in someone else’s arms like this, to have someone else not just indulge his ideas, but completely accept them without question. 

Steve lets go of Tony’s hand, and he pouts at the sudden lack of contact. “I don’t think we were done with that. How do we know I’m still holding this right?”

“Well I can’t shoot it for you,” Steve points out, smiling fondly at him.

“I don’t think I can shoot it for myself either, but here we go, I guess.” Tony pulls back the stick a few times, like he’s testing a golf swing, then hits it. The puck goes far wide of the net, and he winces. “Oh that sucked.”

He turns to Steve, who shrugs. “It takes practice. A lot of it.”

Steve grabs the stack of pucks and tosses one at Tony’s feet. Tony shoots again, misses, and Steve tosses another puck his way. They keep going like that, until the fifth one makes it, bouncing in off the crossbar. Tony lifts up his arms in celebration while Steve cheers for him. Steve grins, “That one was perfect.”

He skates toward him, and Tony drops the stick when Steve kisses him suddenly. When Steve pulls back, leaving Tony dazed and breathless, he whispers, “Sorry, I just… I really like this. Being here with you.”

“Me too,” Tony whispers back. “Don’t be sorry. Please kiss me whenever you want.”

Steve laughs and in the fakest southern accent he’s ever heard says, “‘So I can kiss you anytime I want’.”

“What?” Tony asks, not getting the joke. 

“From Sweet Home Alabama,” Steve says. “Come on, please tell me you’ve seen that. Everyone’s seen that one. The line’s literally in two different scenes.” 

“I’ve never seen it,” Tony says, and Steve sighs.

“At the beginning of the movie the girl asks the boy why he wants to be married to her and he says ‘so I can kiss you anytime I want’, and then at the end it’s reversed when they get back together,” Steve explains the plot very seriously, while Tony tries not to smile. He’s cute when he’s explaining movie scenes. 

Tony shakes his head, “Definitely didn’t see it.”

“I’m adding it to the list,” Steve says, referring to the list of romantic movies Tony hasn’t seen but apparently must.

“If you insist.” He secretly loves the list, especially because it gave him such a great excuse to wrap himself around Steve the other day. But he also likes the fact that it lets him get to know Steve better, even in just a small way.

Steve picks the stick up and starts collecting pucks. “You’ll like it. It’s got everything you need in a romantic comedy. Childhood sweethearts, kissing in the rain, a love triangle, and completely unrealistic jobs for all of the major characters. But most importantly: young Patrick Dempsey.”

“Fine,” Tony says, taking the stick back from Steve as they start to leave the ice again. “But I’m only in it for Patrick Dempsey.”

“He’s got the most unrealistic job of all, by the way,” Steve tells him, putting the equipment back where they found it. He sits down to take the skates off. “I’m pretty sure his job title is ‘rich guy with political ties’. He’s in tight competition with the guy that makes weird shit from glass, though.”

“You are not selling this movie well,” Tony says. 

“What? No, that’s what makes it good,” Steve argues. They walk back the way they entered, headed for Tony’s car. “The lack of realism is very important. Patrick Dempsey’s character proposes to a girl whose life he knows literally nothing about, and then he’s completely fine when he gets left at the altar. It’s great.”

“If you say so, but we’re watching it at your place, and you’re making me hot chocolate because I’m cold now.”

“Deal,” Steve says. “And we already have snacks, remember?”

“That was my intention all along.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Very well planned and not at all insane,” Steve teases. Before Tony can make a sarcastic remark of his own, Steve says, “By the way, I meant to ask you if you were planning on coming to Casino Night next week.”

“Casino Night?” Tony repeats.

“Yeah, the Islanders do it every year for the charity foundation. People buy tickets and get really dressed up to gamble and play games, and the players have to be the dealers. It’s at Chateau Briand this year,” Steve explains.

“You have to be a dealer?” They’ve reached the car, and Tony opens Steve’s door for him. Steve turns to him before getting in.

“Yeah, I usually do blackjack and wear a really nice tux,” Steve says it like he knows exactly what the image of him in a tux will do to Tony, his expression complete with a smirk. 

“God, yes, shit,” Tony’s brain short circuits. “I will definitely be there.”

Getting in the car, Steve says, “I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Crashing Into You by Vance Joy


	11. Meet Me In The Afterglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mature content at the end!

Steve gives his bowtie one last tug and checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror at Chateau Briand again. He runs a hand over his neatly trimmed beard, wondering if he should have shaved it or not. It would look classier, but he remembers Tony’s face the first time he saw Steve with the facial hair and knows he needs to keep it. Tony acted so gloriously flustered at the sight. Steve had never seen the other man blush before that moment, and he wants to keep doing that to him.

“How many times are you going to check yourself out in the mirror?” Bucky asks him, making Steve jumps when he walks in the bathroom. “It’s getting weird.”

Steve glares at him, “I haven’t done it that much.”

“You have, though. We’ve all noticed.”

“I just -” Steve puts a stray hair back in place and sighs.

“You want to impress your boyfriend,” Bucky finishes for him. “Yeah, I got that. But you look great and that’s not going to change however many times you look, so stop being weird and let’s go. People are starting to get here.”

Steve turns away from the mirror and walks out, saying, “Not your best pep talk, by the way.”

Bucky follows him into the ballroom, which is lit in shades of blues and almost overfilled with casino games. His voice is extra dramatic when he says, “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was Stevie, you look so incredibly handsome in your tux, I can’t believe People hasn’t named you sexiest man of the year yet.”

“Alright, I get it,” Steve says dryly, but Bucky keeps going, “I mean, Idris Elba who? You might just give Tony a heart attack looking like that, you should really be more careful.”

Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay.”

Bucky grins and heads off to man the roulette table, while Steve goes to the blackjack table in the back corner. He doesn’t really like nights like this, nights that force him to make small talk with wealthy strangers to get them to spend even more money. They always talk to him about the hockey, too, pretending to know more than they do and commenting on the state of the team. It bothers him to have to smile and nod while some rich guy tells him that their defensive line needs more work and his friends aren’t playing as well as they should. The thought of Tony being there makes him feel better about it, though. At least he’ll have one person that doesn’t make him feel like he needs to be someone he’s not.

Steve greets guests as they start to come in, shuffles the cards over and over so he has something to do with his hands. A couple sits at the table in front of him, and he chats while he deals the cards. They’re nice enough, make comments on the goal he scored in the game last night and ask him how he feels about their playoff chances, then leave to chat with other players.

It goes like that for a while, with people sitting down to play a couple of hands at a time, then continuing with their rounds, until Steve is joined by his least favorite yearly guest. He always stays for too long, talks about things he shouldn’t, and doesn’t know how to take a damn hint. He flirts, too, incessantly, like he’s trying to make Steve uncomfortable.

“Ty, good to see you,” Steve lies. He deals the cards, two for each of them.

“Steve, looking good as always.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t make an attempt at small talk, knowing that Ty will say something soon enough anyway, and that it doesn’t really matter how polite or impolite he is to him.

“So,” Ty starts as he loses the first hand, “team’s been doing really well this season.”

Steve nods and deals a second hand, “Yeah, it’s been good. All the guys are playing well.”

“Well I don’t know about all the guys,” Ty laughs, and Steve’s skin crawls at the sound. “Let’s be honest about that. Fourth line hasn’t come up with anything in weeks. Bruce’s goals against numbers aren’t what they should be these days. He’s up to what, 4 against him a game now? And that trade for Parker? Kid’s not even old enough to drink and you gave up that much for him? He’s got a great shot, sure, but that’s a lot of stock to put on a kid. He should still be playing college games, don’t you think?”

Steve clenches his jaw. Ty likes to bait people, make them say too much by pissing them off, but Steve doesn’t fall for it easily. With as neutral of a tone as possible Steve replies, “He’s young sure, but most are when they start in the pros these days. Connor McDavid started at 18, right? Captain at 19. Best way to keep a team competitive is to keep ‘em young and full of potential.”

“More like the best way to waste millions on a bad investment. He’ll burn out soon enough. Fuck,” Ty swears as he loses his fourth hand in a row. He’s never been very good at making smart bets.

“Maybe you should try a different game,” Steve suggests. “This one doesn’t seem to be going well for you.”

Ty gives him a mischievous grin, “But this is my favorite one. Best view in the house.”

Steve deals again, staying quiet, until Ty decides to say more, “Pretty interesting news last month, wasn’t it? Tony Stark buying the team in the middle of the season. I knew him back in the day, you know.”

Steve can’t resist. “Oh yeah? How?”

Ty looks smug at getting Steve to bite. “Went to school together as kids. Our parents were friends, too. Well, they were for a while before Tony’s father put my father out of business. Tony’s just like his dad, you know. Exactly like Howard was. An entitled, arrogant asshole.”

“I don’t think that’s very fair,” Steve defends. They’ve stopped playing the game now.

“Oh, no, don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything about him. He’s your boss, I get it,” Ty says. “Can’t go around bad mouthing your boss in public. But I’ll be discreet.”

“I very much doubt that. But I think you should give Tony the benefit of the doubt. He’s been doing some pretty great things for the team. He’s given us a lot of really helpful tech for practices. We trust him.”

Ty snorts, grabbing his drink from the table and knocking the rest of it back. “That’s a mistake.”

“What is?”

“Trusting Tony Stark,” Ty answers, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know what happened to the last guy that did that?”

“No, I don’t,” Steve says. He should tell Ty to shut his mouth and walk away from the table, but he knows he can’t. He’s one of the biggest donors to the team’s foundation every year. There’s being distant, borderline impolite, but then there’s insulting and he knows he can’t cross that line.

“Exactly. No one does. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth just like that.” Ty snaps his fingers.

Steve doesn’t have a clue as to who Ty is referring to, and he doesn’t get a chance to ask. Another voice interrupts, laced with a hint of anger.

“I fired him for continuing to sell weapons to terrorists, actually.”

Steve doesn’t know when Tony got there. He was too busy dealing with Ty to notice him approaching the table. Tony continues, “Rumor has it he retired to the Caribbean, so I wouldn’t really call that disappearing, either.”

“Rumor also has it that you did a little more than fire him, Tony,” Ty replies. Steve feels uncomfortable being caught between whatever this is, but there’s nowhere for him to go.

“I don’t think you of all people should talk about rumors, Ty. We’ve all heard the ones about you.” There’s a daring look in Tony’s eyes, one Steve has never seen before. He’s never seen any part of this side of Tony, and there’s too much history between the two for Steve to quite understand it.

Ty hesitates for just a second, but it’s noticeable. Tony tells him, “I think it’s time you try a different game now. Your luck’s run out on this one.”

Ty stands from his stool, getting in one last word before he leaves. He looks at Steve as he says, “I told you he’s an asshole.”

They watch him storm off, right out the door. Tony turns to Steve, all traces of annoyance gone, but his smile looks forced as he says, “Never a dull moment, huh?” Tony sits down, and Steve isn’t sure what to say.

“That was… bizarre.”

“Oh, that? That was nothing,” Tony says with a wave of his hand. He takes the cards himself, since Steve isn’t moving. “Ty’s a dick. Always has been, always will be. Of course, I’m sure he said the same thing about me, didn’t he?”

“He has some colorful words to describe you,” Steve says. He flips over the second card, and Tony does the same. He gives them each a third one.

“I bet he does. He’s never liked me. Made fun of me in school every chance he could, got his friends in on it, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. Tony wins the hand, and Steve deals another.

Tony shrugs, “It was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

“I always thought that guy was an asshole. He comes every year, talks to me about how the team can do better, all the things we’ve done wrong.”

“Bet he thinks I’m going to run the team right into the ground,” Tony sounds unbothered, emotionless.

“Maybe,” Steve says, waiting until Tony looks up to tell him, “But I sure as hell don’t.”

Two women take a seat at the table, and the conversation is paused so Steve can make the required small talk. They lean in a little too close, flirt not so subtly, and Steve has to flirt back. He glances at Tony, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

The women walk away after a few hands, and Tony says, “Your flirting sucks.”

“Well they’re not exactly my type,” Steve points out.

Tony hums in agreement, and they play the next hand in silence, then Tony says, “I’m a little mad that Ty was here when I got here. Didn’t give me a chance to appreciate you in that tux properly. Feel kind of cheated.”

Steve takes a step back from the table, arms out to the sides to show Tony his tux. Tony does a spinning motion with his finger, and Steve feels a bit ridiculous as he turns to give Tony the full view, but he does it anyway. It makes Tony smile.

“Even better than I thought it would be,” Tony says. “And I’m glad you kept the beard. I was worried you would shave it.”

“I thought about it. Came this close to doing it,” Steve holds his fingers close together. “But I know you like it.”

“It’s hot,” Tony says.

Tony wins another hand, and Steve asks, “How are you winning so much?”

“It’s a simple strategy game. Just have to know when the odds are in your favor and when to quit,” Tony says. They start a new round, and he wins that one, too. “So do you ever get a break tonight?”

“If I need one,” Steve answers. He leans his elbows on the table, so close he can feel Tony’s breath and smell his cologne. “Do I need one?”

Tony nods, tossing the cards in front of him toward the center of the table. “There’s a supply closet down the hall to the right.”

“How do you know that?” Steve questions, following Tony from the table. He ignores the very pointed look he gets from Bucky as they pass the roulette table.

Tony grins, “I may or may not have looked for one when I got here specifically for this purpose. You’re welcome.”

When they reach the empty hallway, Tony grabs his hand and pulls him down the length of it with a sense of urgency. He opens the door, and Steve pushes Tony back against it the second it’s closed. His hands slip under Tony’s suit jacket, gripping his waist. It doesn’t feel close enough, even with Tony’s tongue against his. They haven’t seen each other in almost a week, with games and work and travel keeping them apart, and it isn’t close enough.

Steve hoists Tony up, and Tony’s legs wrap around his waist immediately. Tony pants for breath, head falling back against the door. Steve’s mouth moves down, leaving a trail from Tony’s jaw to his neck. Tony gasps and his hands tighten their grip on Steve’s shoulders when Steve sucks the spot behind his ear. He stops before he can leave a mark and continues his way down to the base of his throat.

While Steve loves having Tony wrapped around him like this, he wants to touch the rest of him, too. He sets Tony back on the ground, hands wandering and lifting Tony’s shirt from where it’s tucked in. Tony pushes Steve’s jacket off his shoulders, and Steve throws it to the floor.

“Shirt, off,” Tony mumbles. His fingers go to work on Steve’s buttons, fumbling with them a little. He wonders if they should stop now, go back to the event, but he’s too far gone. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

With the top buttons undone, Tony kisses every exposed inch of Steve’s chest as he works on the rest of them. Noises come from Steve’s mouth that are almost embarrassing when Tony’s teeth graze his nipple. Steve’s shirt falls to the floor, and Tony flips their position.

Steve’s back hits the door loudly, and the wood is cold against his bare skin. His belt clangs to the floor. Tony’s hands come back up, one pulling Steve back in. Their mouths meet violently, and Tony bites gently on Steve’s lip.

When Tony moves down, dropping to his knees, Steve gasps, “Oh, shit. Fuck. Should we be doing this here?”

Tony looks up at him through long lashes, eyes dark and lips swollen. He must have gone too far earlier, because there’s definitely a mark forming on his neck. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Steve answers, eyes closing when Tony gets his zipper down. He feels Tony’s mouth through his boxers, warm and firm. Fingers tug at his waistband, pulling them down to his knees.

“Well isn’t that a pretty thing,” Tony says appreciatively, leaning back to stare at his cock. Steve’s eyes pop back open at the feeling of Tony’s mouth around the tip of him. He moans, too loudly for the almost public space they’re in, and he slaps his own hand over his mouth to stop the next one from coming out when Tony hollows his cheeks to take him in.

Tony pulls off and grabs Steve’s elbow to take his hand from his mouth. He leads his hand to the back of his head and says, “I like my hair pulled.”

Steve is happy to oblige that request, likes pulling Tony’s hair as much as Tony likes having it done to him. Tony takes his cock deep into his mouth, and every thought leaves Steve’s mind. He’s consumed completely by the feeling of Tony’s mouth tight and hot around him. Tony’s hand wraps around the base of his cock, the other holding Steve’s thigh with rough fingers that’ll leave bruises later.

Steve’s breath comes in short, quick gasps. His free hand clutches uselessly against the door as he resists the desire to thrust forward. He almost breaks when Tony swallows around him. “Oh, fuck. That’s - jesus.”

Steve tugs harshly on Tony’s hair, earning himself a moan that vibrates against his cock. Tony’s other hand pulls on Steve’s hip, urging him forward. He looks down at him, verifying he isn’t misreading the cue, and Tony looks up and nods the best he can with his mouth full like that. He thrusts into Tony’s mouth, gently at first, until Tony pulls with both hands on his hips again. Not holding back anymore, Steve thrusts forward, letting every moan and gasp fall from his lips.

The sight of Tony is too much for him. His eyes are screwed shut in concentration, spit collecting on his chin. One hand moves to cup Steve’s balls, his fingers applying gentle pressure. Tony swallows again, and it tips him over the edge. Tony pulls back a bit, Steve’s cum hitting his tongue instead of the back of his throat.

Tony wipes his mouth on his shirttails before tucking them back into his pants, while Steve tries to catch his breath. When he can think clearly enough to speak, he says, “Shit, that was… incredible.”

Tony smirks at him, straightening his clothes. Steve frowns when he realizes Tony’s fully dressed. Noticing Steve’s expression, Tony says, “You need to get back out there.”

“I don’t think I’m done here yet,” Steve says. He starts fixing his own clothes, pulling his boxers and pants back up.

Handing Steve his belt, Tony winks and says, “There’s plenty of time for that later, baby.”

Out of all the nicknames Tony has called Steve so far, that one has to be his favorite. Tony gives Steve one long, slow kiss before ducking out the door, leaving Steve to button up his shirt and collect his jacket from the floor, all while thinking about the things that he’s going to do to Tony later. It definitely makes the rest of the evening talking to strangers easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Afterglow by Taylor Swift


	12. We'll Be A Fine Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I hope to be back to posting more regularly after the holiday!

Tony wakes up to the smell of food cooking in his kitchen. It confuses him for just a second, then he remembers last night. The Casino Night, Steve in a suit quickly followed by Steve in nothing. He’s smiling as he gets out of bed and goes into the kitchen.

Steve is standing at the stove in just his boxers, spatula in hand, and Tony can hardly believe that’s a sight that he gets to see. He comes up behind Steve, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck, eyes closed.

“Morning, doll.” He can hear the happiness in Steve’s voice.

“Morning,” Tony mumbles back. He breathes in deep and picks up on something sweet mixed in with the distinct smell of coffee brewing. “What’re you making?”

“Pancakes,” Steve answers, flipping them one by one. “They’re almost done. Get your coffee, love.”

Tony’s entire body warms at the way Steve calls him love and doll. He reluctantly releases him and grabs a mug from the cabinet. Pouring his coffee, Tony can’t help but steal glances at Steve. There’s a dark mark on his neck, another on his collarbone. Fingertip shaped bruises are purple on his hips, a lovely reminder of their moment in the supply closet. When Tony pulls out a stool and sits, he gets a not so lovely reminder of their fun after they got back to Tony’s place. Oh well, he thinks, it was worth it.

Steve slides stacks of pancakes onto two plates and joins Tony. Steve almost looks nervous, like he’s asking for a favor when he says, “So, we’re playing the Rangers tonight. Can you come?”

“Yeah, of course I can. Why?” Tony covers his pancakes in a thick layer of syrup, then Steve does the same.

“I know it’s dumb, but I feel like I play better when you’re there,” Steve shrugs. “Like the first game you came to, I got that last second goal, and I scored twice against the Kings when you were in LA. Got three points against Anaheim, too.”

Tony grins, “So I’m your good luck charm? Is that what you’re saying?”

Steve looks sheepish as he says, “It’s kind of a superstition now, honestly, and I could use a little boost tonight. I hate playing the Rangers. They play cheap hockey.”

“Well, consider me flattered. What other superstitions am I joining?”

“There’s really not very many,” Steve says. “I always tape my stick last when I’m getting ready, and I wear blue boxers during games.”

Tony glances down at Steve’s currently black boxers. “Why?” 

“I’ve been doing it since college,” Steve replies. He takes a drink from his coffee and continues, “First time I scored a goal in college I was wearing blue. Next game, I wore gray and got highsticked so hard it gave me a black eye. Switched back to blue, got another goal, and kept wearing them.”

Steve says it like it makes perfect sense, and when he sees Tony’s expression he adds, “You don’t mess with the superstition.”

“But it’s not like you score every time you wear them,” Tony reasons. “You’d have more than 80 goals a year.”

“That’s true, but an athlete is nothing without their superstition. We all have them. Bucky eats an apple every day of the season. Sam is always the third guy on the ice during warm ups. Thor is always the last one off the ice during games. Some of us have reasons, most of us don’t.”

“You guys are weird,” Tony concludes.

“True again.” 

Tony takes a bite way too big for his mouth, and syrup drips down his chin. Steve reaches out and wipes it away, licking it off his thumb. He does it so casually, like he’s done a million times before and might do it again tomorrow and the day after that, too. He almost forgets how to breathe at the feeling that thought gives him.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing,” Tony replies, unable to hold back his smile. Steve smiles back, even if he doesn’t know why Tony started to. 

They’ve both finished their food, and Steve takes both of their plates to the sink. He glances at his watch and sighs, “I’ve got morning skate soon. I gotta get going.”

Tony follows Steve back to the bedroom, picking up his own shirt and belt that were discarded on the floor last night. Steve grabs his horribly wrinkled shirt from the foot of the bed and frowns, “Well this is going to look like a walk of shame, isn’t it?”

Tony laughs and tosses Steve his pants, “Guess you’ll have to be more prepared next time.” He’s already making a mental note to order some things for Steve to keep here. 

“Guess so.” Steve finishes with his belt and looks down at the state of his clothes. “Because this is just bad.”

Tony walks over, straightens Steve’s jacket and shrugs, “Still hot.” 

He pulls Steve in by his shirt collar, kisses him hard. His hands start to wander, and Steve pulls back with a laugh, “I have to go. You’re going to make me late for morning skate, and then Coulson’s going to kill me.”

Tony lets him go, but Steve leans back in for one more quick kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, doll.”

“Have fun at practice, baby.” 

Steve gives him a grin before he leaves. Tony gets himself dressed, then goes down to the lab to occupy his time until he needs to get ready for the game. He works on his design for better fitting skates, made with a synthetic material he’d been working on for the past week. Feeling the standard ice skates helped with the material and fit, and he loses himself in the work until JARVIS reminds him he needs a shower and clean clothes.

Tony arrives in the owner’s suite just as the anthem is finishing and the first period is seconds away from starting. Rhodey agreed to meet him there later, but for now it’s just him watching as Steve takes the faceoff and wins it. 

It feels different to him to watch Steve play now. The game seems to move faster, every play becoming a little more important. He winces when Steve gets knocked into the boards, though it was far from being overly aggressive. He claps a little too hard when Steve hits the guy back. 

Rhodey shows up between the first and second period, taking the seat next to him and asking, “How’s the game going?”

“Haven’t missed much,” Tony replies, gesturing to the scoreboard. “No goals, pretty even puck possession. Getting a little intense, though.” 

Rhodey shrugs, “That’s what you get with a rivalry game. Plus the Rangers’ guys are dicks.”

“That’s what I hear,” Tony smiles. “I believe the phrase Steve used this morning was ‘cheap hockey’.”

“This morning, huh?” Rhodey raises his eyebrows, a knowing look on his face. 

“He may or may not have spent the night at my place, and he might have made pancakes this morning before he left for practice.”

“Well isn’t that domestic,” Rhodey teases. “Look at you and your grown up relationship.”

“Shut up,” Tony says, but there’s no real venom behind it. He gets back at him by saying, “You should know that he is definitely strong enough to hold me up against the wall, by the way. Doesn’t even look like he’s trying. And last night, he did this thing against the window -”

Rhodey’s hand covers his mouth, and he says, “Alright, I don’t need to hear about that.”

He drops the hand as the players come back on the ice for the second period. The play gets more and more heated, body checks becoming harder and happening more frequently. Every minute without a goal for either team seems to add to the tension, and Rhodey leans over and says, “Ten bucks that somebody punches that guy before the end of the period.” He points at Zemo, who’s currently shoving at Sam next to the net after the whistle has already blown. The referees step in before anything can happen, though.

“Somebody probably should,” Tony agrees. 

But then somebody does, and Tony wishes he’d never said it. It starts with a dirty, center ice hit that most definitely should be called for interference. Bucky wasn’t expecting it, his attention focused down the ice as he waited for Scott’s pass. Zemo crashes straight into him. His shoulder comes up to collide with his chin, and Bucky falls back, helmet bouncing roughly as it hits the ice. Tony knows what’s going to happen before Steve can even drop his gloves. 

Steve’s fist slams against Zemo’s helmet, while their teammates circle around them. Each man has one hand on the other’s jersey, pushing and pulling almost like its a wrestling match. Zemo gets a punch in, knocking Steve’s helmet off. Tony flinches when he sees the blood coming from Steve’s nose after the next punch. He hates watching it, but can’t look away, needing to see what happens to him. 

Zemo loses his footing when Steve gets another punch in, falling to one knee. He aims for Steve’s abdomen instead, landing two hard punches in a row. Pulling Zemo back up by his jersey, Steve hits back. The referees interject before it goes any further. The noise from the crowd is deafening, but Tony doesn’t join. Steve skates slowly from the ice, leaving droplets of blood behind him. 

He hears Rhodey call his name as he walks out of the suite, but he doesn’t stop or explain. Maybe he’s overreacting, but he doesn’t stop to think about it as he rushes down to ice level. Something in his mind just tells him he needs to see Steve for himself and make sure he’s okay.

When he opens the door to the medical suite a few minutes later and sees Steve and Bucky on adjacent examination tables with the team doctor, he realizes he shouldn’t be there, but it’s too late now. The blood has been wiped from Steve’s face, and his knuckles are being wrapped in gauze. Steve notices him, and Tony awkwardly says, “Hey, I, uh - that whole situation didn’t look so great. I, um, just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” He glances at Bucky and adds, “That both of you are alright.”

Bucky answers first, quickly saying, “We’re fine.” 

“You know hockey players get injured, right? It happens all the time,” Steve says. His words are cold and almost dismissive. The doctor presses against his side, and Steve just barely flinches. 

“Take off your jersey and pads,” the doctor instructs. He looks at Tony like he’s trying to figure out why a team owner would rush to check on injured players and says, “Barnes is here for concussion protocol, but appears to be fine. Rogers likely doesn’t have a serious injury. His nose looked bad at first, but it isn’t broken.”

Tony nods, tries not to act too relieved at the doctor’s assessment. He forces himself to come across as aloof and not react when Steve takes off his undershirt, revealing a red, swollen area on his ribs. The doctor watches Steve’s face as he lightly grazes the area, and Steve does his best to seem unaffected. 

“Does it hurt to breathe?” the doctor asked. 

“It’s fine,” Steve says, but the doctor must see through it. Tony doesn’t really know this side of Steve - the tough hockey player who refuses to show a weakness - but the doctor probably sees it all the time. 

“Take a deep breath,” the doctor requests. 

Steve does as he’s told, but even he can’t mask the pain the breath causes. The doctor nods as if confirming an assessment. “It’s probably just bruised, but you’ll need an x-ray to confirm it.”

“It’s fine,” Steve repeats. “I can play through it.”

“No, you can’t,” Tony interrupts. All three men turn to look at him. “You’re not playing with a broken rib. Go get the damn x-ray.”

Steve stares at him, but he must forget the injury as he takes a sharp, angry breath, then winces. He tells the doctor, “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

The doctor exits the room quickly, likely sensing the tension between them. Tony feels bad that Bucky still has to be there, caught in the middle of whatever this, but there’s nothing he can do about that. 

Tony steps toward Steve, no longer needing to keep up the pretense of being just the team owner. Steve doesn’t let him speak. “I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that,” Tony says, feeling his frustration rising. “You can’t even breathe, and you left a fucking trail of blood on the ice.”

“And yet I’m fine,” Steve says for what feels like the hundredth time instead of the fourth. Tony hates the words, and he hates the way Steve says them more, too even and distant. 

“You’re not fine!” Tony almost shouts. “If you were fine you wouldn’t need the damn x-ray!”

“And I’ll be back in the game after the x-ray shows that nothing’s wrong. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Tony ignores the hurt he feels at that last part, arguing back, “You were repeatedly punched in the face, Steve.” 

“Wasn’t the first time. Won’t be the last,” Steve says. He stands from the table, brushes passed Tony as he adds, “Better get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from Fine Line by Harry Styles


	13. Mess Is Mine

Steve sits in the stands for the next game’s morning skate, a few rows down from the top of the section. He isn’t allowed to participate with the bruised rib, and he technically shouldn’t be there at all, but he hates missing practice almost as much as he hates missing games. The team doctor told him he would only be out for the rest of the week, two games in total. To Steve, it would be torture, watching his team play with crucial points on the line and not being able to help in any way. Logically, he knows his teammates can handle themselves for two games without him. He isn’t the only guy capable of scoring goals and making good plays, isn’t somehow the glue of the entire team, but he’s frustrated by it nevertheless.

His teammates practice with their temporary lines, adjusted to compensate for Steve’s absence on the first line, while Steve can do nothing but watch. Sam’s taken his place as center, playing with Scott and Bucky, who was cleared completely after missing the rest of the game against the Rangers. The three play well together, not that Steve expected any less. 

He feels Tony’s presence before he sees him, feels someone hovering behind him and knows it wouldn’t be anyone else. They haven’t spoken in almost two days, and Steve knows it’s his own fault, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. He acted cold when Tony was just concerned for him, still angry over the fight and in pain that he couldn’t show, and he didn’t know what to say other than “I’m fine” when Tony texted him the next morning, so he didn’t answer at all.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he asks, and it sounds harsher than he intended. A bad mood has clouded him since the game, and it unintentionally seeps into his voice.

Tony leaves an empty seat between them when he sits down, and Steve breaks a little at that. Neither of them says a word, with Steve unsure of what he should say. They watch the team review their power play formations in horribly uncomfortable silence, until Tony, voice quiet and hesitant, asks, “Are you still mad at me?”

“What?” Steve moves a little too fast when he turns to him, and his side protests with a sharp burst of pain. 

“Are you still mad at me?” Tony repeats the question, looking straight ahead at the ongoing morning skate. 

“I was never mad at you,” Steve says. He wishes Tony would look at him, but he keeps staring at the ice, with an unreadable expression. “Why would I have been mad at you?”

Tony shrugs, “Well, I’ve been told that hockey players get injured all the time and that I should get used to it.”

“God, I -” Steve breaks off, switching seats to be next to Tony. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

“But you did say it.”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” Steve repeats, and Tony finally looks at him. His eyes are sad, and Steve hates himself for causing it. 

“Seemed pretty angry for someone who wasn’t mad.”

Steve runs his hand through his hair, as if it’ll help him sort out his own feelings. “I was mad, I guess. But not at you. It was just - the whole thing was so fucking stupid. I was mad at myself for even taking the fight. I know that’s why he hit Bucky. He wanted to start shit, and I shouldn’t have let affect me like that, but I couldn’t let it go. Bucky hit the ice so hard, and I had to defend him. It was dirty and cheap, and I had to do something. And I knew I was hurt the second he did it, and it pissed me off even more.”

“And what about yesterday?” Tony asks, referring to the multiple texts that went unanswered. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d known Tony thought he was angry with him, but it’s too late now.

“I was still mad about it. I am now, too. I’ve got a bruised rib that won’t let me breathe, my hand is sore, and I have to miss two games all because some guy decided to be an asshole, and I couldn’t let it go. And I know I was unfair to you after it happened. Honestly, Tony, I thought you were mad at me, and I didn’t know what to say yesterday.” 

Tony takes awhile to speak, then admits so softly that Steve barely hears it, “That fight really scared me.”

Steve reaches out and tilts Tony’s face to him with a light touch, forgetting momentarily that they’re in public. “I know, and I’m sorry, baby. For all of it.”

A whistle blows from below them, snapping them both back to reality. Steve drops his hands and adjusts in his seat to face forward. 

Tony has a much lighter tone when he eventually says, “A bruised rib is a really stupid injury.”

Steve laughs, relieved that he’s seemingly accepted the apology, and agrees, “Isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t even sound real,” Tony says. Steve steals a glance at him, and there’s a small smile on his face. The sight of it lessens his bad mood, until it’s almost gone completely. 

“Hey, you want to get out of here? I don’t actually have to be here,” Steve suggests. “We could go back to my place. I can’t really do anything, but we could watch a movie.”

Tony stands from his seat in lieu of a direct answer. “What’s next on the list?”

Steve follows Tony out and says, “Okay, you’ve got three options. Pretty Woman, Something’s Gotta Give, or You’ve Got Mail. All great choices, honestly.”

“Plots?”

“So in Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts is a prostitute hired by billionaire Richard Gere to spend a week being his date to a bunch of events, then they obviously fall in love. It features one of the most awkward sex scenes ever in the beginning, but saves itself with some pretty iconic lines.”

Tony grimaces, and says, “Sounds insane. Next.”

“Something’s Gotta Give has Jack Nicholson as a wealthy older guy who only dates younger women, and Diane Keaton is the mother of his girlfriend. He has a heart attack while at Diane Keaton’s beach house and can’t travel home, so he stays there. Then there’s a love triangle between them and Keanu Reeves, who’s his doctor. I should warn you that the movie does force you to see Diane Keaton’s breasts and Jack Nicholson’s ass, then you have to imagine them having sex. Still good, though. She’s a playwright, her daughter’s an auctioneer, and I think he works as a music industry executive, so pretty interesting careers happening in that one, too.”

“Are you trying to describe these in the worst way possible?” Tony asks. They’ve exited the building now, and Tony takes his hand now that they’re truly alone.

“No,” Steve laughs. “It’s a complete accident. I think they really just sound that bad when you break them down to their basic components.”

“Alright, what’s the last one?”

“Meg Ryan owns a small children’s bookstore in New York in the 90s. She’s dating a pretentious writer, and is regularly emailing Tom Hanks, who runs Fox Books superstore and has a fairly vapid girlfriend. They met online in a chatroom, but they don’t reveal anything about their identities to each other, so when they meet by coincidence they don’t know who the other is.”

“So they’re business rivals, but they’re in love with each other without realizing it,” Tony fills in the rest. 

They stop in front of Steve’s car, and Steve leans against the trunk, pulling Tony in front of him. His thumbs rub delicate circles into Tony’s hips. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

“Hm,” Tony murmurs, wrapping around Steve’s shoulders. “Pass. Let’s go with Julia Roberts as a hooker. You’ve intrigued me with the most awkward sex scene of all time.”

“It starts with her putting her hand up his pant leg,” Steve tells him. 

Tony’s brow furrows, “Why?”

“I have no idea,” Steve answers. His hand moves up from Tony’s hip to the back of his neck, drawing him in.

Tony kisses him, slow and sweet like he’s making up for lost time. When they part, Tony moves to the passenger side door and says, “Forgot to mention that you’re driving me. Happy dropped me off.”

Steve gets in the car and starts it. He holds Tony’s hand as they drive out of Brooklyn, feeling relieved at how easily they were able to get back to normal. He didn’t realize how much Tony had become a part of his daily life until they weren’t talking.

“So, I was thinking,” Tony starts, his finger tracing absentmindedly on the back of Steve’s hand. “I want you to meet my friends. And I know I’ve already technically met yours, but I want to get to know them. Feels like the next step, right? We should get together, all of us. You, me, Rhodey, Pepper, Bucky, Sam. What do you think?”

Steve grins, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Tony seems like he’s thinking out loud as he says, “But you’ll be back with the team by the end of the week, and Pepper’s in D.C. right now, so that’s no good. You’ve got that road trip coming up, don’t you? Canada all next week. Rhodey will probably be in town again by the end of that, and Pepper should be available that weekend. That’ll be a good time for - what?” 

Steve realizes he’s been smiling the whole time and probably isn’t paying nearly enough attention to the road. “You’re rambling, baby. It’s cute, though.”

Tony huffs, “Are you free next weekend or not?”

“I’m free,” Steve laughs, “Think I’ve even got two days off in a row.”

“We’ll do next Sunday, then.”

They get to Steve’s building, and he pulls into the parking garage. Once inside, Tony flops down onto the couch and tugs the blanket down to cover him. He toes off his shoes and makes grabby hands for Steve. 

“Hold on, doll,” Steve says fondly. He grabs the movie from the shelf and puts it in. “I need to get some ice for my ribs.”

He gets the ice pack from the kitchen and a washcloth from the bathroom, then joins Tony on the couch. Lifting his shirt to put the washcloth-wrapped ice pack on the bruise, he notices Tony’s frown. The bruise has turned an ugly shade of bluish-purple, spreading down his left side, and there’s heavy concern in his voice as Tony says, “That doesn’t look good.” 

“It looks worse than it is,” Steve reassures, but Tony doesn’t look like he believes him. “Really, it’s not that bad. It’ll be healed enough to play in a few days, then it’ll be gone completely in a month.”

The frown doesn’t leave Tony’s face, though, and Steve pulls him in closer to his uninjured side, careful not to jar the injury. He cups Tony’s cheek with his hand, thumb running over his bottom lip. “I’m okay, Tony.” 

Tony gives him a small nod, leaning into the touch. He rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, and they settle back into the couch cushions together. Steve spreads the blanket out over their huddled form and presses play on the movie.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony softly asks a minute later.

Steve holds him a little tighter, presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sure.”

“Well now I’m going to have to stay with you the rest of the week just to make sure for myself,” Tony says, a hint of humor in his voice. 

Steve laughs, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Nope, I have to take care of you,” Tony says. “Your mess is mine now too, baby. That's what you signed up for when you started dating me.”

Steve smiles, every trace of frustration at the bruised ribs gone for now. Maybe there was an upside to having to miss a couple of games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Mess Is Mine by Vance Joy


	14. Company You Keep

“Stop fidgeting, sweetheart,” Steve says, putting his hands on Tony’s shoulders. Tony stops his pacing through the kitchen, and sighs. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’re meeting each other’s friends, not joining a cult. And you’ve already met mine, so really I’m just meeting your friends. If anyone should be worried, it’s me.” 

“Exactly. But you’re fine, and it’s stressing me out,” Tony tells him. He knows it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but Steve meeting Pepper and Rhodey is one of the biggest steps their relationship can take for him. He can’t remember the last time Rhodey met someone he dated, let alone the last time he met someone and liked them. 

Steve chuckles, “You want me to panic?”

“Don’t laugh, it’s not funny,” Tony says, swatting at Steve’s arm. He checks his watch, only to see that just a minute has passed since the last time he looked. They have another fifteen minutes, which gives him an idea. He looks at Steve suggestively, running a hand down his chest, “You know what might make me feel better?”

Steve catches on immediately, “We do not have time for that, doll.”

“They probably won’t show up on time anyway,” Tony shrugs. He kisses Steve’s neck, moving up from the base of it to his jawline. Pulling Steve by his shirt, Tony backs up against the counter, running a hand over Steve’s freshly shaven skin. He kisses him on the mouth now, tasting the mint of his toothpaste, and he feels Steve giving into it. One hand slips up his shirt, careful not to touch the still healing injury, the other messing up Steve’s perfectly styled hair. Steve’s own hands start to move, hoisting Tony up onto the counter. He unhooks Steve’s belt, almost has it off, then the oven timer goes off. 

Steve pulls away to shut it off, grabs the tray of brownies from the oven, and sets them on the counter. He leans against the counter opposite Tony and points a finger at him as he says, “You’re far too dangerous.”

Tony grins, “You love it.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back into place, though one wisp of hair falls back down across his forehead. Straightening his belt, he says, “I’m not admitting that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony says, hopping off the counter. He smooths his hand over Steve’s shirt to undo the wrinkles he created. “We both know it’s true.”

Steve mumbles something, but Tony doesn’t quite catch it. “What was that?”

“Nothing, doll,” Steve says, feigning innocence. He’s the one that starts it the second time, hands gripping Tony’s hips to pull him in. 

“You said we didn’t have time for this,” Tony reminds him. 

“We definitely don’t,” Steve agrees, but he doesn’t let Tony go yet. He holds him there, leaving not an inch between any part of them. He rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and relaxes into the touch, his nerves completely forgotten until JARVIS alerts them that Pepper and Rhodey are on their way up. His head pops up, and he separates himself from Steve, repeatedly mumbling, “Oh, God.”

“Babe, calm down,” Steve says, amusement in his voice, taking Tony’s hand to prevent the pacing from starting up again. 

Tony hears the elevator doors open, and Pepper and Rhodey soon appear in the kitchen. Steve is the picture of confidence as he shakes Rhodey’s hand and kisses Pepper’s cheek. 

“Smells good in here,” Rhodey says to Steve. “I’m going to assume that’s you and not him.”

Tony laughs, “Steve baked.”

“A man of many talents,” Pepper says. 

“Well, I wanted to do something since Tony insisted on ordering in dinner,” Steve explains. “Something about not being allowed to cook for either one of you anymore.”

Rhodey snorts, “Yeah, since he gave us food poisoning last time.”

“You can’t verify that was me,” Tony argues back.

“We know it was you.”

Pepper chimes in to tell Steve, “Don’t let him near the stove. He’s caused more than one fire as well.”

“They weren’t major.”

“He lit our microwave on fire in college once,” Rhodey says. Tony groans, knowing exactly what this particular story entails. 

“In my defense, I was drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to think microwaving grapes would be a good idea.”

Steve looks to be a mixture of amused and confused. “Why would you microwave a grape?”

“Science experiment,” Tony shrugs. “They turn into plasma.”

JARVIS saves him from the complete story, which involved a lot of tequila and Tony in the middle of campus in his boxers after a fire alarm that evacuated the entire building, by informing them that Sam is on his way up, perfectly on time. Steve goes to wait by the elevator for him, leaving Tony with just his own friends for the moment. 

Pepper and Rhodey stare at him, strange smiles on their faces. Choosing not to engage in whatever they’re thinking, Tony turns and collects wine glasses for everyone, except for Steve, who he grabs a glass of water for. He opens a bottle of wine, and they’re both still looking at him. He sighs, “Just say it.”

They glance at each other first, then Pepper says, “You seem really happy, that’s all.”

“It’s nice,” Rhodey adds. He looks serious as he continues, “But I do have to threaten his life tonight.”

Steve chooses that moment to walk back into the room, Sam trailing right behind him. His eyebrows are raised as he asks, “Whose life is being threatened?”

“I’d have to guess it’s yours,” Sam answers. He makes introductions to Pepper and Rhodey, and Steve comes to stand next to Tony again. Steve’s arm snakes around his waist, pulling him in close to his side. 

“Standard protocol,” Rhodey says. “I threaten your life, your friends threaten Tony’s. You know the drill.”

Steve laughs, “Consider me warned then. Sam, you have any threats to make?”

“Oh, no. I’m not threatening my boss,” Sam jokes, hands held out in front of himself. “Seems like Bucky’s job.”

Tony rolls his eyes as he slides glasses of wine across the counter to the others. He leans back into Steve’s touch, content to watch their friends make quick remarks and laugh with each other. Steve presses a kiss to the side of his head, so wonderfully casual in the gesture. They keep up with relaxed conversation until Bucky arrives a few minutes later, just before their food gets there.

They’re settled at the dining room table, plates full of take out from Steve’s favorite place in Brooklyn, when Bucky announces, “So who wants to hear some embarrassing stuff about Steve? I’m talking high school, college, and pro years. Plus anything I can remember that Steve’s mom told me about his kid years.”

“Oh, definitely,” Tony grins wickedly at Steve, who sighs. “Give me your worst.” 

Bucky launches into his first story, with everyone but Steve looking excited for it, “Okay, so, when we were in college, we went to a big party the night before the football game at Ohio State, which is the biggest game of the year, by the way.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony interrupts. “Is this the picture in Steve’s living room? With all the Michigan stuff and the tailgate?”

Bucky nods enthusiastically, his smile growing, “That’s the one. So, we’re drunk out of minds, and playing a game of truth or dare with a bunch of other drunk guys. Now, it’s important to know that Steve and whiskey really don’t mix, like at all. There’s a whole list of things Steve’s done while drunk on whiskey that I’ll have to tell you about later, but that night some guy got dared to eat an entire stick of butter, and Steve’s dumb ass says ‘that’s too easy’.”

“It was!” Steve argues, making everyone at the table laugh.

“But you had to know what was going to happen after that,” Bucky says. “Anyway, Steve said it was too easy, so I bet him that he couldn’t eat more of them than I could. It was probably a bad call on my part, too, but hey, Steve obviously lost so it was worth it.”

“How many did you eat?” Pepper looks horrified as she asks the question.

“Bucky ate five, I ate three.”

Rhodey laughs, “Why did you keep going to five?”

“I had a point to prove,” Bucky shrugs. “It really wasn’t that bad, but I got to pick the punishment. Now, the Michigan and Ohio State rivalry runs deep, like you don’t step foot on campus in Ohio State gear unless you want everyone to instantly hate you, and vice versa. We were already going to Columbus for the game and tailgating, but I made Steve wear every piece of Michigan gear he could find. I’m talking foam fingers, face paint, maize and blue wig, even Michigan underwear. Head to toe Michigan gear in the middle of Ohio State territory. And then I made him sing the fight song in front of everybody. I think it’s safe to say that Steve was the most hated guy in Ohio that day.”

Steve finishes the story for him, “I got three beers poured on me before the game even started. Got even worse when we lost, because every guy leaving the stadium was making fun of me.”

“Best day ever,” Bucky grins. “Didn’t even matter that we lost.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s an underlying fondness there. His hand comes to rest on Tony’s knee beneath the table, squeezing it as he says to Pepper and Rhodey, “Alright, it’s Tony’s turn to be embarrassed now.”

“Nothing’s embarrassing when you have no shame,” Rhodey says, then Pepper finishes the line, “And Tony definitely doesn’t.”

Steve smiles at Tony and says, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Although,” Rhodey says, a devilish glint in his eyes. “I bet he never told you about junior year spring break.”

Tony turns quickly to glare at him and warns, “Don’t you dare.”

“He was 16,” Rhodey starts to say, then Tony kicks him under the table. Rhodey laughs, “Come on, it’s really not that bad. You only threw up twice, and I was the only one that saw the second time.”

“It was the worst,” Tony says, grimacing at the memory of a beach in Mexico, a series of stupendously bad choices, and an ear piercing that’s luckily faded away into just a small scar. “Any story but that one. I’ll even give you Vegas in ‘03.”

Rhodey takes deal easily and tells Steve and his friends the story Tony’s heard a thousand times, though doesn’t have much of his own memory of. They talk and exchange stories for over an hour, mostly at the expense of Steve and Tony, and Tony realizes how easy it all feels. His anxiety left long ago, without him even noticing, somewhere between hearing about Steve’s college years and the plates being cleared and brownies being placed on the table instead. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky says suddenly, drawing the immediate attention of all of them. “I can’t believe I forgot Steve’s most embarrassing moment of all.”

Steve looks confused and a little worried, “Pretty sure you got them all, Buck.”

“Sophomore year of college,” is all Bucky says, then he waits for Steve to remember. When he does, he throws his head back and groans, “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” Tony says, “Please tell me.”

Bucky looks at Steve with one eyebrow quirked, seemingly asking for permission to share. Steve waves his hand and sighs, “Go ahead. I fully intended to tell him eventually, anyway.”

“Tony, do you remember a photoshoot you did back in - what was it? 2008?” Bucky asks. Tony doesn’t understand the question at all and glances between Steve and Bucky. A blush spreads across Steve’s cheeks, and the look he gives him is almost apologetic. 

“I’ve done a lot of photoshoots,” Tony shrugs. “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific.”

Steve offers, “It was for Wired.” The blush grows, tinting Steve’s ears a shade of pink. Tony doesn’t know what it’s for, but he likes the sight of it anyway.

“Now, without going into too much detail, because I really don’t want to relive that, let’s just say I came back to our dorm one day to Steve… really appreciating that photoshoot,” Bucky trails off, letting everyone else fill in the blanks for themselves.

When it clicks, Tony bursts into laughter and turns to Steve, “Seriously?”

Steve nods, smiling faintly at Tony’s not at all negative reaction to the story, sounding a touch embarrassed as he admits, “It was a good photoshoot.”

Tony laughs harder, and he wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, resting it on the back of his chair. “Well, thanks. I’m glad you thought so.”

“He really thought so,” Bucky says, “It was taped to our wall for two years.”

Tony can’t resist teasing Steve just a little. He leans in so only Steve can hear him whisper, “You know, I’ve got much better pictures now if you want them. Might come in handy on those road trips.”

Steve’s breath comes out as more of a gasp, and he shifts in his seat. Tony smirks, then turns back to their friends as Bucky jokes, “Should’ve seen his face when I told him you bought the team. It was priceless.”

“I honestly thought you were lying,” Steve says. He looks at Tony, blue eyes shining, “Really, really happy it was true, though.” 

The look is almost too much for Tony to handle, too soft and innocently adoring, and he’s pretty sure he actually forgets to breathe for a moment. 

Rhodey and Sam reach the same conclusion, with Rhodey saying, “Get a room” at the same time Sam says, “You guys are gross.”

Tony grins, deciding to double down. He pulls Steve in with two fingers beneath his chin, relishing in the way Steve follows so easily. The kiss is just borderline inappropriate for the setting, a hint of open mouths and the taste of chocolate on Steve’s tongue. 

Rhodey throws a napkin, hitting Tony on the forehead, and he breaks away from Steve with a laugh. Steve keeps him close, his breath on the back of his neck as he smiles into Tony’s skin. The rest of the evening passes just like that, with their friends laughing together, Steve’s hands never quite leaving him, and Tony wondering what he ever did to deserve something as nice as this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Company You Keep by Maren Morris


	15. Hands All Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is definitely not the chapter I intended to write, but here's an entire chapter of explicit content, and just a little fluff. Translations for the French are at the end!

A knock on the door pulls Steve from the remnants of sleep. He groans as he stretches his muscles, sore from last night’s game in Pittsburgh and throws back the blanket. There’s another knock, and Steve drags himself from the mattress. He opens the door, surprised to find what’s quickly become his favorite sight.

Tony, who is completely underdressed for March in Boston in his suit jacket and plain black t-shirt, smiles and holds out a coffee. “Good morning, baby.”

Steve ignores the coffee for the time being, pulling in Tony by his belt loops to kiss him. Once they’re far enough into the hotel room, Steve pushes the door shut with his foot. Tony can’t do much with the drinks in his hand, so Steve does enough touching for both of them. His hands wander freely, tracing the curves and lines he’d missed in the last few days of travel and games.

Pulling just far enough away to take a breath, Steve murmurs against Tony’s lips, “What’re you doing here?”

Tony shrugs like it’s nothing, as if he didn’t take an early flight from New York just to be here, “I like Boston.” 

“Oh, so it’s Boston you’re here for,” Steve teases. He takes both coffees from Tony, setting them on the dresser. His hands return to Tony’s hips, mouth seeking out the spot just above Tony’s jacket collar. Steve’s wearing only the sweatpants he practically passed out in the night before, and he starts pushing the jacket off Tony’s shoulders so they’re on a little more even level. The backs off his legs hit the edge of the bed, and he lets himself fall back, taking Tony with him, lips never leaving Tony’s skin. 

Tony sounds wonderfully dazed as he says, “Of course.” His breathing hitches when Steve sucks a mark into his neck. “W- what else would I be here for?”

Steve flips them so Tony’s beneath him, his legs hanging off the edge of the bed while Steve rests his knees on either side of Tony’s waist. He continues his way up to Tony’s jaw, going torturously slow. A small gasp escapes Tony’s mouth as Steve suddenly moves lower instead, pushing Tony higher up on the bed. Tony complies when Steve lifts the bottom of his shirt, raising off the mattress just enough to let Steve slip the fabric from his frame. 

Steve leaves a trail of light kisses down Tony’s chest, stopping just above the waistline of his pants to look up at him. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“And you called me dangerous,” Tony says, probably aiming for sarcastic but missing the mark and sounding unraveled by Steve’s touch. Steve pulls down the zipper on Tony’s pants, fingers moving slowly, strategically brushing all the right places in the process. He gives a tug on the jeans, pulling them down to Tony’s knees, drawing a sharp, “Jesus,” from him. 

“You know,” Tony starts, sitting up on his elbows to watch Steve move even lower, pressing kisses into his now bare thighs. “I actually had plans for today.”

“Hm?” Steve mumbles against the skin of Tony’s inner thigh. He sucks on the sensitive skin there, delighting in the way Tony’s hands clutch onto the sheets in response.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and god does he sound breathless. Steve keeps going, sucking a matching mark into the other thigh. “I was going to - God, Steve. Take you all over Boston and Cambridge. All - fuck, all the places I used to go to in college, and, um, other places I thought you might like.”

Steve finishes with the mark on his thigh and drifts up, mouth grazing Tony’s cock through his boxers as he says, “That sounds nice.”

Tony’s hips thrust up to meet Steve’s mouth with a little more force. Steve keeps with the teasing, though, and slides further up the bed to hover above Tony, no longer touching any part of him. Not content with the lack of contact, Tony reaches up to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck. He stretches to meet Steve in a heated kiss. 

“But now we’re off schedule,” Tony says. Sliding his hand down Steve’s back, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants and drags them as far down as he can reach. Tony’s hand reaches down for him, but Steve pulls away, sitting back on his heels. 

“We can get going now, if you want,” Steve suggests. “Just need a shower and -”

Tony cuts him off by pulling him down by his shoulders, mouth colliding roughly with Steve’s, though he doesn’t mind it at all. Steve tries to hold in the sound that he makes when Tony tilts his hips up against him and he fully notices just how hard he’s become. He pauses the frenzied kiss to stand from the bed, kicking his pants off and to the side, then doing the same to Tony’s. He’s reaching to take off Tony’s boxers when he realizes, “Fuck, I don’t have any lube.”

Tony smiles, points to the pile of discarded clothing on the floor and says, “Jacket.”

Steve goes to retrieve it, finding a small tube tucked away in the pocket, and raises his eyebrows in question. Tony’s smile is more of a cocky smirk as he says, “Brought it just in case. I like to be prepared.”

Steve grins, coming back to bed to wrap himself around Tony. He kisses down from Tony’s jaw, and Tony shudders as Steve’s teeth skim across his chest. Soft sounds fall from his lips as Steve keeps moving lower, until he’s finally pulling off Tony’s boxers. He leans down, licking a long stripe down the underside of Tony’s cock. An obscene moan fills the silence as Steve puts just the tip of it in his mouth and slides his tongue against the slit. He repeats the motion a couple more times, taking Tony a bit deeper each time, until Tony, voice nearly cracking, says, “Baby, this is going to be over way too soon if you keep doing that.”

Pulling back, Steve reaches for the lube and squeezes some onto his fingers. He rearranges their position, putting himself between Tony’s legs. He drops down to press a quick kiss to Tony’s lips before reaching between them to gently press against Tony’s hole. Steve starts slow, with one finger until Tony adjusts enough for a second to slide in, then a third. 

“Steve,” his name comes out in a low whisper. “More, please.”

Steve obliges, lifting Tony’s leg higher for a better angle that allows him to reach the spot that makes Tony quiver beneath him. He looks down at him, watching brown eyes grow even darker still with want, pupils blown. His eyelids flutter shut as Steve hits the spot again, and Steve gently kisses each one. “So beautiful, baby. God, you’re perfect.”

“Steve, baby, please,” the words fall out in a rushed stream. “Need you, please.”

“Always so polite during sex,” Steve teases, grinning as he pulls out his fingers to grab the lube again. He rubs it on himself, while Tony impatiently waits with fingertips pressed hard into Steve’s hips, ready to bring him forward the second he can. Steve tries to go slow, to take his time and let Tony gradually adjust to the stretch, but Tony’s not having it. Tony rolls his hips, pulling him forward until he can’t possibly go any further, profane language pouring out of him with every inch. 

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve gasps. His arms threaten to give out on him at the sudden heat enveloping him. He takes a moment, both for himself and Tony, then settles into a steady rhythm. 

Tony is a mess of incoherent words beneath him, and Steve loves every second of it. It’s the only time he ever gets to see the other man at a loss for words. 

“So good, love,” Steve whispers, punctuating the words with sucking kisses along the pulse points on Tony’s throat. “Always so good for me.” 

Steve holds himself up with one hand on the mattress, using the other to briefly tangle in Tony’s hair. He pulls on it, just firm enough to give pleasure instead of pain, the way he knows Tony likes it, and receives a soft moan in return. His hand traces down Tony’s body, stopping along the way to brush the pads of his thumb against Tony’s nipple, then continuing between them to grip Tony’s cock. Tony’s hips buck up in response, and Steve matches the timing of his hand with his thrusts. 

“Fuck, Steve. Shit,” Tony groans. “Close. So close.”

Steve moves faster, pushing Tony even farther to the edge. He leans back, holding Tony by the waist to control his movements better, and it doesn’t take long after that. Tony comes in his hand, spilling across his own chest. Tony’s body tightens around Steve, pushing him closer to the edge. His control slips a little, thrusts becoming more unrestrained, and he loses it when Tony says, “Come inside me, baby. Please.”

His head falls down onto Tony’s shoulder as he catches his breath. He tilts to the side, lips meeting sweaty skin and delivers featherlight kisses. Tony turns his head, capturing Steve’s mouth with his own. It’s slow and sweet, and perhaps the kiss they should have started the day with instead of the more rushed hello Steve gave him earlier.

“I’m really happy you’re here,” Steve whispers. There are more words he wants to say, confessions of much deeper feelings that have been on his mind for some time, but he holds them back for now. It’s too soon, he tells himself. Too much of a chance he wouldn’t hear them in return.

Tony smiles, skims a calloused thumb across Steve’s bottom lip. “Me too.”

Steve reluctantly lifts himself back up, almost collapsing at Tony’s side. They’re both a mess now, and Steve knows they should shower, but he doesn’t want to move just yet. He takes Tony’s hand instead, brings it up to brush his lips against his knuckles, and holds it for a long while in the comfortable silence that falls between them. 

Tony is the first to move, sighing as he sits up. “I’m sticky,” he declares. 

Steve laughs and gets up from the bed. He holds out his hand in invitation, “Come on. Let’s take a shower.”

Tony accepts the hand, using the leverage to stand. Instead of letting go, he pulls Steve back in. Steve kisses his forehead, wrapping an arm around Tony to press him into his chest and runs a hand through messy hair. Against Steve’s shoulder Tony mumbles, “I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few days,” Steve reminds him, though he feels the same way. It felt longer, too much distance after the considerable amount of time they’d spent together lately.

Tony kisses Steve’s shoulder, then lifts his head. “Three days and seven hours. Too long.”

Steve smiles, because of course he was keeping track. He agrees, “Way too long.”

They part and make their way into the bathroom, where Steve turns the water on. While they wait for it to get warm, Steve asks, “So where are we going today?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out, Cap,” Tony says, smirking. Steve’s smile grows. As much as he likes rendering Tony speechless, he thinks he likes his attitude even more.

They get in the shower, and Steve wordlessly reaches for shampoo and starts massaging it into Tony’s scalp. Tony leans back against him beneath the water, a content sigh slipping out. “This is nice.”

Steve doesn’t answer, just applies a little more pressure that makes Tony close his eyes. When he’s done, Tony rinses it out himself while Steve washes his own hair. Tony pours body wash into his hand, rubs it on Steve’s chest, then turns him around to wash his back. A touch on a particularly sore muscle makes him wince, and Tony’s hands stop instantly. 

“Just a little sore,” Steve explains, turning back around. “Rough game yesterday.”

Tony frowns, “I saw.”

Steve traces the outline of Tony’s lower lip with his thumb, wanting the frown to disappear. He knows Tony worries, that he doesn’t like the games that cross the line into fully aggressive, almost violent. Reassuringly, Steve says, “I’m fine. A little banged up, but nothing bad.”

Tony pokes gently at a decent-sized, purple bruise on Steve’s bicep, one that he hadn’t noticed was there, and Steve laughs, “One minor injury.”

“And this one?” Tony questions, finger over a smaller bruise just above his hip. It’s faded into yellowish color, a few days older than the one on his arm.

“Actually that one’s my fault. Bumped into your kitchen counter the other day.”

That makes Tony laugh, and Steve grins at the sound. “Are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“Sure I’m not bad luck now?” Tony asks, referencing the last game he attended.

Steve runs a soapy hand down Tony’s back, in more of a caress than actually washing his skin. “You could never be bad luck, babydoll.”

“Hm, babydoll. How old fashioned,” Tony smiles softly. “I like it.”

Steve uses his hands to rinse the soap from both of them and points out, “You like all of them, sweetheart.”

“Well, they all sound so nice when you say them.”

Steve decides to test another one out, something he learned during a French class back in college, “Tu es mon coeur.”

A sound like a whimper echoes off the shower walls. “Jesus, Steve. That’s not fair.”

“Mon amour,” Steve whispers close to Tony’s ear. Tony trembles in response, clutching Steve’s shoulders with a tight grip. 

“If you keep that up, we’re never making it out of this hotel room,” Tony says, though his movements don’t match the words. He clings even closer to Steve, lips ghosting over Steve’s collarbone.

He speaks even lower, mouth brushing against Tony’s ear as he continues, “Tu es parfait pour moi. Incroyable. Magnifique.”

“Oh, God,” Tony sighs. “I really did have plans for us.”

“Mon petit chou.”

Tony’s voice is strained as he says, “I was going to take you to Graffiti Alley. Really close to MIT.”

“Mon trésor,” Steve murmurs, lips trailing down Tony’s jaw. 

“Walk around Beacon Hill, too.”

“Mon ange.”

Tony groans, head falling down to rest on Steve’s shoulder. Steve changes their position, guiding Tony gently back until he’s pressed against the tiled wall. Tony shivers at the sudden cold, then again as Steve dips down to continue a line of soft kisses along the side of Tony’s neck. 

“There’s a bar Rhodey and I used to go to,” Tony starts. His voice raises an octave as Steve rolls his hips against him. “Thought about taking you there.” 

“Je t’aime ici.”

“I don’t know what the hell that means, but I love it,” Tony says, hips rising to meet Steve’s. He didn’t mean to start this up again, really did want to see everything Tony had planned, but they’re both too far gone now. 

“It means ‘I like you right here’,” Steve explains, his hands cup either side of Tony’s face, drawing him in for another slow kiss. “Like having you just like this. All to myself. Just for me.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Tony says, pulling Steve back in to kiss him hard. “Boston can wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations!
> 
> Tu es mon coeur - you are my heart  
> Mon amour - my love  
> Mon cher - my darling  
> Tu es parfait pour moi - you are perfect for me  
> Incroyable - incredible  
> Magnifique - gorgeous  
> Mon petit chou - literally translates to "my cream puff", but is a variation of my dear/darling  
> Mon tresor - my treasure  
> Mon ange - my angel
> 
> Chapter title is Hands All Over by Maroon 5


	16. All's Well That Ends Well (To End Up With You)

Steve’s fingers trace patterns on Tony’s back, making small circles and lines from the base of his spine up to his neck. Tony pretends to still be asleep for a while longer, just to feel Steve’s hands wander wherever they’d like, feel the shapes he’s creating on his skin. They’d fallen asleep some time after the shower, when they’d all but collapsed into bed, skin still damp and hair dripping. He shifts in bed, lifting his head off Steve’s chest to glance at the clock. It’s almost noon now, and his loose itinerary had them making their way across the river to Cambridge long before. He can’t bring himself to feel bad about that, though. Steve had been the one to start it, but he had more than welcomed it. 

Tony drops his head back down, nuzzling further into the spot where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder. Steve’s hands have stopped their movement, now holding him close. He gets the feeling that Steve doesn’t want the moment to end anymore than he does, but he knows they can’t stay there all day. 

“We should probably get dressed,” he mumbles into Steve’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Probably.”

Tony reluctantly sits up, feeling cold at the loss of contact. He stands from the bed and begins collecting the discarded clothing. Pulling his boxers back on, he turns to Steve, who hasn’t moved from the bed yet. Instead, he’s watching him, arms folded beneath his head. With the blanket low on his hips, the position shows off every perfectly toned, athletic muscle. That alone would be enough to make Tony forget how to breathe normally, but it’s the look on Steve’s face that really gets to him. Steve looks at him with open reverence, like he’s something to be admired and appreciated. He swallows hard and forces himself to turn away, to reach for his t-shirt on the floor, before he says something Steve’s probably not ready to hear yet. 

He tries for a light-hearted joke instead, “You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He knows it’s not his best, that it’s not even slightly original, but he can’t think with Steve’s eyes on him like that.

Steve smiles, teasing back, “Well, I was promised pictures for my next road trip.”

“Gave you the real deal instead,” Tony says, looking for the sock that seems to have vanished somewhere in the room. He finds it under the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress to pull it on. Glancing at Steve over his shoulder, he asks, “Got any intention of getting dressed today, Cap?”

Steve laughs, throwing back the blanket to get up. Tony tries not to stare at Steve’s naked form as he goes to his suitcase. He dresses quickly, in dark jeans and the same blue sweater from the day they met. He doubts the clothing was chosen for that reason, but it makes Tony smile at the memory anyway. 

Tony puts his shoes on and asks, “Ready to go?”

Steve looks hesitant, gaze not quite meeting Tony’s. “Would you mind heading down first? I just - everyone else is on this floor and I don’t know who might be out there. And, um, well, I think I got a little carried away earlier with the marks because you definitely look like you’ve just had sex, and I -” Steve sighs, “Can’t really risk running into somebody who doesn’t know. Somebody who might not be so discreet about it.” 

“Oh,” Tony says, doing his best not to feel hurt by it. He knew from the beginning that the secrecy was part of the deal, knew it when Steve made it clear that he wasn’t out yet. But the reminder still stung. Ignoring that feeling, he says, “Of course, yeah. I get it.”

There’s relief on Steve’s face, and Tony wonders if he’s imagining the hint of guilt there, too. “Thank you, Tony.”

He nods quickly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze as he says, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

Tony ducks his head into the hallway first, checking that the coast is clear. No one seems to be out there, so he heads for the elevator. He decides to wait for Steve in his car, retrieving it from the deck he’d parked it in and pulling it up to the front. Steve comes down a few moments later, bundled in a heavy coat and navy blue scarf. 

Steve gets in the car and leans over to kiss Tony’s cheek. Tony smiles and turns the car onto the road, driving them towards Harvard Bridge. They navigate through the streets that Tony once knew like the back of his hand, and it’s quiet until Steve says, “Feel like I kind of killed the mood back there.” He sounds like he’s aiming for casual, but misses the mark.

“Hey, no,” Tony says quickly. He reaches over, places a hand on Steve’s knee. He wishes he wasn’t driving so he could do more than that. “We’re good. Everything’s good.”

Steve doesn’t speak, so Tony continues, “You’re not ready for us to be public yet, and that’s fine. Really, it is. However long you need, I’ll be right here, baby.”

Steve puts his hand on top of Tony’s as an answer, stroking a thumb across the back of it. He still looks downcast, such a sharp contrast to the morning they had. There’s another long silence, then Steve says, “Maybe when the season’s over. I - maybe it’d be easier then.”

“Whatever you need,” Tony promises. He flips his hand to hold onto Steve’s. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When they reach their destination a moment later, Tony can finally do more than hold his hand. He parks the car, then rotates in his seat to really look at Steve. He waits for Steve to talk, or even just to look somewhere that isn’t outside his window.

Steve finally turns to him, a soft smile forming on his lips. “Thank you.”

“You’ve said that already,” Tony says. He reaches a hand out, thumb stroking along Steve’s cheekbone. 

“I mean it.”

“So do I,” Tony murmurs, moving closer until his abdomen is pressed against the center console. Steve meets him the rest of the way, lips gentle on the corner of Tony’s mouth.

Tony pulls back with a grin, hand reaching for the door handle. “Come on. I’ve got research to impress you with.”

“Research?” Steve asks, smiling as he gets out of the car. 

Tony takes Steve’s hand to guide him to the graffiti-covered alley. “Well, this wasn’t here when I was at MIT. Had to do some research so I could properly impress you with my knowledge. For example, did you know that the word ‘graffiti’ comes from the Italian word ‘graffiato’ which means scratched?”

“I definitely didn’t.” Steve drops Tony’s hand, wrapping an arm around his waist instead.

“But of course graffiato comes from the Greek word ‘graphein’, which means ‘to write’,” Tony says, not at all expecting Steve to laugh, yet that’s the reaction he receives. “What’s so funny?”

“‘Give me a word, any word, and I'll show you how the root of that word is Greek’,” Steve quotes, and if Tony thought Steve’s southern accent was bad, his Greek accent is even worse. “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”

“How the hell do you have a movie reference for everything?” Tony laughs along with him. He won’t say it out loud, but he loves the movie quotes. He loves that they have a running joke.

“You just keep setting me up for them,” Steve says. “It’s like you’re doing it on purpose.”

The conversation drops as they walk into the alley. Every inch is covered in colorful spray paint and bright designs, complete with a covering above them reminiscent of stained glass. Even the brick paved ground has a scattering of small designs. Tony’s research included pictures, of course, but it was better in person, with Steve’s arm around him and the translucent paneling from the ceiling bathing him in a shade of blue.

There are a few other people in the alleyway, but luckily not too many, and they’re all too focused on art to notice them. He can keep himself wrapped up in Steve and not be overly concerned that a picture might end up posted somewhere. 

“So what do you think?” Tony asks. 

Steve’s looking all around them, seeming enraptured by the environment. “This is amazing. I didn’t even know this place existed.”

Tony didn’t either until yesterday, when he spent hours pouring over travel sites and blogs for places Steve might like. He was thrilled when he found this, and he’s even happier that it actually panned out.

“So are you going to impress me with that research or what?” Steve asks, coming to a stop in front of a large piece of a sunflower. “Because I’ll be honest, I don’t know anything about graffiti. I just think it’s cool.”

“Well, graffiti apparently originated in Philadelphia in the ‘60s. This teenager who everyone called Cornbread started writing his name on buildings, and some other guys started writing their own names, too, and I guess that’s how it went for a while, just a bunch of guys writing their names wherever they could, all over their cities. Got a lot bigger than that, obviously, but the whole thing’s got pretty humble roots.”

Steve smiles at him, creases forming around the corners of his eyes from the sincerity of it. Tony’s surprised by the kiss, the intensity of Steve’s mouth on his and the taste of him on his tongue almost overwhelming. 

“You’re amazing,” Steve whispers, lips brushing against his own as he speaks. 

Tony shrugs away the compliment, feeling his chest constrict at the words. He still isn’t used to the way Steve talks about him, the way he looks at him, the way everything just seems so damn sincere when it’s coming from him. He still has to actively push away the voice in the back of his mind that tells him it’s all too good to be true.

“I mean it,” Steve tells him, not accepting the shrug. A gust of wind makes Tony shiver, and Steve frowns. “Although you really should learn to dress warmer.”

Steve unwraps the scarf from his neck, putting it around Tony, and he’s enveloped in warmth and the smell of Steve, which makes for an intoxicating combination. Maybe that’s why people like it so much in the movies Steve watches, he thinks. 

Slipping his hands into Steve’s jacket, he asks, “What if this was my plan all along? For you to keep me warm?”

“Or what if you forgot to bring a coat with you to Boston because you packed at the last minute after an all night binge in the workshop?” Steve teases. He pulls Tony in a little closer, keeping him warm against his chest.

“That’s technically true,” Tony says, surprised by the accuracy of Steve’s assessment. “But how do you even know that?”

“Because you snore when you’re really tired, and you put off everything to the last minute.”

“I do not snore,” Tony huffs, offended by the statement. 

“You do,” Steve smiles. “But it’s endearing.” 

“You know what isn’t endearing? Being told I snore.”

Steve laughs, and he brings a hand up to Tony’s face. Any annoyance he was feeling fades away as Steve cups his cheek, thumb skimming across his skin. “It’s cute, baby.”

“Sure it is,” Tony says. He lifts the bottom of Steve’s sweater and presses his frozen hands to Steve’s back, making him jump, but not pull away. If anything, he manages to move closer, letting Tony warm his hands on his skin. 

They stand there like that for a while, until Steve loosens his grip and says, “We should get out of the cold.”

Though Tony doesn’t want to leave the warmth of Steve’s embrace, he does like the idea of going inside. He releases his hold, taking his hand instead. They walk the rest of the way through the alley, slowly so they can take in the rest of the art and Steve can take a few pictures of the one’s he likes the most. 

“There’s a diner not far from here. Rhodey and I used to go there back in the day,” Tony offers when they’ve reached the end, pointing in the direction of MIT, just a short distance away. “It’s honestly not that great, but it’s got a lot of sentimental value.”

Steve smiles, “Sounds good.”

The diner is gloriously warm when they walk inside. The interior has been updated since the last time he was here, but it still smells the same, like burnt coffee and greasy food. They take the booth all the way in the back, farthest from the cold air that’s drifting in from the door. With Steve across from him in the booth, he’s reminded yet again of that first day, and he doesn’t realize he’s grinning until Steve looks at him curiously. 

“What are you smiling at?”

“You,” Tony laughs. “Thought that was obvious.”

The waitress comes at that moment, pouring them both coffee, and when she’s gone Steve asks, “So what’s the sentimental value of this place?”

“Just used to come here a lot. Rhodey found it our first week, and there was a waitress he thought was hot, so he dragged me here with him almost every day for a month so he could flirt with her. Didn’t work out at all, but it kind of became our thing. Used to come here at least once a week. It’s been a long time since we last came back, though.”

“When was the last time?” Steve’s menu is sitting open in front of him, but he hasn’t given it more than a glance. 

Tony stops to think about it. “Maybe 2008? Rhodey made me go to our twenty year reunion with him. Funny how people that wanted nothing to do with me back in the ‘80s were suddenly very interested in reconnecting,” he says dryly. 

“That sucks. I’m sorry,” Steve frowns, looking genuinely sad about it.

Tony shrugs, “Used to it. Doesn’t really matter, anyway.”

Steve goes to stir some sugar into his coffee, but the spoon slips from his hand and clatters to the floor. Tony sees the opportunity for the reference and takes it, “Slippery little suckers.”

Steve laughs loudly, head falling back, and Tony says, “Guess there really is a movie reference for everything.”

“Pretty Woman’s got a lot of good ones,” Steve agrees, smiling at him. 

The waitress comes back to take their order, then Tony leans in with his elbows on the table and says, “Okay, so I’ve got to ask. What is it with you and rom coms? Not that the ones you’ve shown me aren’t good, but why do you like them so much?”

Steve leans in as well, absentmindedly swirling his coffee around. “I don’t know exactly. I think I just watched them a lot growing up. My mom liked them, so we watched them together. I guess if you want to get deep about it she probably liked them because she didn’t have anything like that, and I probably kept watching them after she died because I like the idea of a happy ending. There’s always hope in a rom com, isn’t there? Everything always works out in the end, no matter how bad it might look, or how different the people are. I mean, I know that they’re actually kind of dumb and things don’t really work that way, but it’s nice to think for at least an hour that they can.”

There’s something so sweet about the way Steve says it that makes Tony think that if he wasn't in love before, he definitely is now. And maybe it’s that sudden rush of emotion that makes him not care how ridiculously cheesy it is for him to say, “Why can’t it work that way? Why can’t you get a happy ending?”

Steve smiles, shy and soft, and his eyes hold an emotion that Tony doesn’t dare to name, “Well, if happy endings exist, then you’re mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Lover by Taylor Swift


	17. It's Nice To Have A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily inspired by It's Nice To Have A Friend by Taylor Swift, so take a listen if you feel like it!
> 
> And the French line in this chapter translates to "you loved it".

“Where are we going?” Tony asks for the third time in the last half hour. 

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” Steve teases, stealing Tony’s line from Boston last week. 

Tony rolls his eyes, but there’s an amused smile on his face. They turn at the corner, maneuvering through the busy Brooklyn sidewalk. Steve’s hands are buried in his pockets, stopping himself from reaching out for Tony’s. They’re both more recognizable in Brooklyn than they are in Boston, and the chances of being seen are just too high. He hates it, but he knows he made the rule for a reason. It’ll be better this way for both of them in the long run, when he can tell the world about it on his terms instead of letting the rumors fly on their own accord. 

“When I said that, I told you the answer a minute later,” Tony argues. “It was a secret for literally one minute.”

“Be patient,” Steve laughs. “We’re almost there. And it’s not my fault you can’t keep a secret.”

“It was completely your fault.”

“I can’t be blamed for the fact that you crumbled when I spoke French,” Steve says, taking them down another street. They had taken the subway out to Brooklyn, with Steve claiming it was part of the experience when Tony questioned it. 

“You knew what you were doing,” Tony accuses. 

“Tu l’as adoré,” Steve says, smirking when Tony groans in response.

“That isn’t fair,” Tony whines. “Stop that.”

Steve laughs, turning them one last time as their destination appears in his eyeline. They stop in front of the tall brick building, and Steve says, “Here we are.”

Tony looks up at it, then back at Steve. He raises his eyebrows, “An apartment building?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He pulls the key from his pocket and unlocks the front door. Pressing the button on the elevator, he explains, “The apartment building I grew up in. Haven’t lived here in a long time, of course, but the super likes me so she lets me keep the key so I can come back whenever I want.”

They get in the elevator, and Steve presses the button for the top floor as Tony asks, “How often do you come back?”

“A few times a year. Not to the apartment itself - somebody else lives there now, and I don’t think they’d appreciate that much.” The elevator doors open, and Steve goes to the stairs to the left of them. Another key opens the door at the top of the stairs, and he holds it open for Tony to walk ahead of him. “But here.”

They walk out onto the roof, and the city is on display in front of them. The setting sun washes the snow-covered landscape in light pink. Farther in the distance, in the middle of the Manhattan skyline across the river, Stark Tower stands out.

“One of the best views in the city, if you ask me,” Steve says. He takes his hands from his pockets, reaching out for Tony’s to lead him closer to the ledge. “I come here to think sometimes or whenever I just need a break from everything. I’m the only one with a key.” Steve hesitates, voice quieter as he says, “I’ve never brought anybody here before.”

Tony looks at him, surprise evident, and Steve smiles sheepishly and says, “You shared Boston with me. Thought I’d share my version of Brooklyn with you.”

“That’s - I don’t even know what to say to that,” Tony says, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve tilts his head, gesturing to a bench he put on the roof himself a few years ago, and asks, “Wanna sit with me for a while?”

Tony nods, and Steve uses the sleeve of his coat to clear away the dusting of snow from the top of the bench. They sit close, Steve with his arm wrapped around the other man, and Tony’s head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Why here?” Tony asks. “Why is this your thinking spot?”

“Just always has been since I was a kid. I used to spend a lot of time up here, reading books or drawing when my mom was at work. Couldn’t really go out on my own, but I never liked staying inside, so I’d come here. It just kind of became my place, and it never really stopped feeling like mine, even when I left.”

“What kind of things do you think about?”

“Everything,” Steve answers. “I came here when my mom died, after the funeral just to get away from all the people telling me they were sorry. Came after I got drafted by the Islanders, then again after they made me captain and all I could think about was how scared I was to screw everything up. Every major thing brings me here. I think it just helps me put everything in perspective, you know? Makes things seem a little clearer.”

Tony hums in response, and they fall into easy silence, looking out at the skyline. Then Steve gets an idea and asks, “Hey, do you wanna play a game?”

Tony lifts his head from Steve’s shoulder, just enough to look at him with a questioning smile. “A game?”

“Twenty questions,” Steve grins while Tony laughs. “Not the one where you have to guess the object - the other one.”

“God, I don’t know the last time I did that with someone,” Tony says. “Maybe college.”

“Me neither, but I don’t think it’s possible to be rusty at twenty questions,” Steve teases. 

Tony adjusts his position so he’s lying on the bench, knees bent and his head on Steve’s lap. He looks up at Steve and says, “Fire away, baby.”

Steve takes a moment to think, then asks, “When was your first kiss?”

“I think I was 16, and it was at a party, but I don’t remember much besides that,” Tony says. “Are there rules to this game, by the way? Like am I allowed to ask you the same question?”

“I don’t think it really has rules. You can ask whatever you want,” Steve shrugs. 

“Same question, then.”

“Okay, it was in high school. Junior year, with a girl from my chemistry class. It was so bad that I swear she never looked at me again,” Steve laughs at the memory, hindsight making it funny to him now. “What’s your favorite smell?” 

“Coffee. Have you ever broken the law?”

“Only if we’re counting jaywalking. Have you?”

“Yes.” 

Steve looks down at him, waiting for more of an explanation, but there doesn’t seem to be one. “You’re not going to elaborate on that?”

“The question was ‘have I broken the law’ not ‘what laws have I broken’,” Tony points out with a self-satisfied smile. “What would you be if you weren’t a hockey player?”

“Probably an artist. I’ve always liked drawing, but I don’t really do it all that much anymore. Not a lot of time for it.”

“I guess one day you really will have to draw me like one of your French girls,” Tony teases, making Steve laugh. 

Steve thinks back to their first date, trying to remember all the questions he’d been too nervous to ask back then. “What’s the first thing you thought when you met me?”

“‘Damn, he’s hot’,” Tony jokes. He pauses, then says, “Actually, I remember thinking that you weren’t what I expected at all. You were honest and nice, and I liked you right from the start.”

“You did?” Steve grins. Warmth spreads through his body at the thought, and he slings his arm around Tony’s middle, holding him a little closer.

“Of course I did. What was your first thought?”

“You weren’t what I expected either,” Steve answers. He idly runs his fingers through Tony’s hair, continuing, “But I liked you from the start, too. I really didn’t think you liked me all that much, though. Thought I said all the wrong things. That’s why I left so quick, by the way. Don’t think I ever told you that. I went to Bucky’s and panicked.”

Tony laughs, “Well I went to Pepper and panicked, so we’re even.”

Steve decides to take a lighter route for his next question and asks, “What would be your perfect date?”

“April 25th.”

Steve gapes at him, and the self-satisfied smile reemerges. “How the hell have you seen Miss Congeniality but none of the others?”

“I haven’t seen it, but I know the reference,” Tony shrugs. He picks up Steve’s hand from where it was resting on his abdomen. He points at a small scar on his palm, asking, “What did you get this from?”

“Mishandled some skates when I was a kid. Rookie mistake,” Steve answers, taking the opportunity to entwine his fingers with Tony’s. “What’s your favorite season?”

“Spring. Did you really have a crush on me before we met?”

Steve feels the blush forming on his cheeks as he admits, “Yeah, for a long time. Does that bother you?”

“Not at all, but that counts as your question, so would you rather have the power of invisibility or the ability to fly?”

“How fast can I fly? And can I use the power of invisibility during games to mess with everyone? Or do my powers have to be a secret?”

“As fast as a plane, no, yes.”

“Flying, then. I don’t like airplanes.”

“You travel all the time,” Tony points out. 

“Yeah, but I don’t like it. It’s a necessary evil,” Steve says. “Which would you rather have?”

His answer is quick, “Invisibility. No question. Think about all the shit you could get away with, Steve. You could go anywhere you wanted to, avoid anybody you didn’t want to see very easily. Endless possibilities, really.”

Steve laughs, “I guess that’s true.”

“It’s absolutely true. How did you lose your virginity?” Steve’s jaw drops at the sudden change, and Tony says, “What? It’s not a proper game of twenty questions if it doesn’t get at least a little inappropriate. Tell me about it.”

“Oh, God,” Steve groans. 

“Baby, just a few days ago you talked dirty to me in French while pinning me to the shower wall. This is hardly a reason to be shy now.”

Steve smiles despite himself and says, “Fine, it was in college with a guy on the baseball team. We were in his dorm on a twin size bed, and it was his first time, too, so it wasn’t great.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” Tony says sarcastically. 

Steve gives him a playful shove, and Tony giggles, a lilting sound that makes him laugh along with him, even after it shouldn’t be funny anymore. When their laughter settles, Steve realizes it’s his turn to ask a question. 

“What’s the best decision you’ve ever made?”

“Easy,” Tony says, looking up at him. There’s something so ethereal about the way he looks at that moment, with the lights from the city reflecting in his eyes and his nose tinted pink from the cold. If there was ever something Steve wished he could lock in his memory forever, this would be it.

“What is it?” Their voices have dropped low, as if they were sharing secrets and didn’t want to overheard.

“Buying the New York Islanders,” Tony smiles. “Pepper thought it was crazy, so did Rhodey, and so did just about everyone else.”

“It probably was crazy,” Steve says, his expression echoing Tony’s. 

Tony sits up, lifting himself off Steve’s legs so they’re face to face and one hand comes to hold Steve’s cheek. “But it got me here,” Tony replies. Steve practically melts into the touch, and he wraps his arm around Tony to hold him up. It’s a bit of an awkward position, so Tony shifts onto his knees, one on either side of Steve’s thighs. He leans down to kiss Steve, and his tongue slides along Steve’s bottom lip, then to the seam of his lips. Steve lets Tony set the pace of it, savors the familiar taste of him and the feeling of Tony’s hands in his hair. 

Before the kiss can turn into anything more heated, Tony pulls away to whisper in Steve’s ear, “And I really like being here.”

"I like having you here," Steve says. He was worried about it earlier in the day, wondering if Tony would like this or if it might taint the sanctity of this place. But now he knows that his sacred place is even better because of this, that he’ll never be able to come back here without thinking of this moment between the two of them. 

The game is forgotten for the time being, as Steve pulls Tony back in for another slow kiss. His lips trail down Tony's neck, ghosting over fading marks from their time in Boston. Tony shivers at the cold lips on his skin, and Steve suggests, "Want to come back to my place?"

"Don't you have a big game tomorrow to conserve energy for?" Tony asks, his tone teasing. "Wouldn't be a good team owner if I wore out my star player the night before they're supposed to clinch a spot in the playoffs, now would I?"

“Screw the team,” Steve jokes.

Tony cocks an eyebrow, “The entire team? Sounds exhausting.”

Steve laughs, “But really I’ll think we’ll manage anyway. It’s the Red Wings, we might be able to win blindfolded.”

“Now that’s another very interesting visual.”

“God, I don’t even want to know what it looks like in your mind right now,” Steve says. He leans in close so his lips brush Tony’s ear as he murmurs, “But I do kind of like the visual of you in a blindfold.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony gasps. “You blush when I ask you about losing your virginity, but you can say shit like that?”

“I like the face you make when I say it. So scandalized,” Steve smirks. He runs his hands up Tony’s thighs, from his knees to his hips, in a slow, languid motion. He watches a sigh leave Tony’s lips, soft breath visible in the air. The noise from the city plays out beneath them, traffic and people and music from somewhere, but all Steve can really hear is the way Tony says his name, and all he can see is Tony’s eyes fluttering shut as Steve continues the movement of his hands, drawing him in even closer until Tony’s forehead is resting against his own.

“Take me home, Steve,” Tony whispers. “Back to yours.”

Steve stands, taking Tony with him and kissing him one last time before setting him on the ground. He takes Tony’s hand, walks him back through the door and down the stairs, all while trying desperately not to dwell on the fact that Tony called Steve’s place home.


	18. Golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who read this fic and to everyone who left nice comments and kudos along the way. I appreciate you all immensely!

Tony rests his head on Steve’s chest, listening to the melodic beating of his heart. He should be asleep by now, but he’s kept awake by incessant thoughts of regret. If there was ever a perfect moment to tell someone else that you love them, it would have been there, on the roof under the setting sun with an entire cityscape as the background. It would have been when Steve brought him to the place most special to him, the one he’s never taken another person to before. Or maybe even when Steve brought him back to his apartment afterwards and whispered sweet words into his ear, things he’s never heard another person say to him before and he never wants to hear from someone else. But those opportunities came and went, and now he can’t sleep. 

He lifts his head just enough to glimpse Steve’s face. Moonlight sneaks in through the curtains, casting shadows over his features. His eyelashes fan out over pale cheeks, lips parted a little as he breathes. Tony wonders briefly if it’s a sight he’ll ever get tired of seeing, but he knows he won’t. He’ll keep feeling this way for as long as Steve will let him, for as long as he still wants him. If only he knew how to say anything of those things.

Tony lays his head back down, back to the reassuring heartbeat against his cheek. The idea hits him quite suddenly, with a shocking level of clarity for two in the morning. He thinks back to Boston, to the other time he really should have said something but didn’t, and he knows what he should do, knows exactly the kind of moment Steve deserves to have. And finally, he’s able to close his eyes with a sense of peace, as thoughts of grand gestures and happy endings and a love confession to put any romantic comedy to shame run through his head.

//

The elevator doors open to Tony’s floor in Stark Tower, and the first thing Steve hears is a loud bang followed by a string of curse words from the other room. He smiles to himself and walks into the kitchen to find the source of the commotion. 

“God, I should not have done this,” Tony mutters under his breath. Smoke billows from a pot in the sink, and Tony’s staring at it with his hands on his hips, slowly shaking his head. Steve leans against the entryway of the kitchen and tries not to laugh at the sight. He covers his mouth with his hand, but the sound escapes when Tony says, “Stupid fucking pasta.”

Tony sighs when he sees Steve, “How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” Steve assures, walking further into the kitchen. He kisses Tony’s cheek as a hello. “Just long enough to see you get angry at a pot, though I can’t imagine it was the pot’s fault.”

“Are you insinuating that it was my fault, Steven?” Tony asks. He holds his hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. 

“Of course not, doll,” Steve teases, running his hands down Tony’s biceps. “But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anybody turn pasta black before. Quite the feat.”

“Well, I never do anything halfway,” Tony retorts. He stares at the burnt food for a few seconds, then says, “Guess we’ll have to order in, though.”

“Can I ask why you were attempting to cook? I thought you were banned from kitchens.”

“I’m trying to romance you, Steve. Can’t you tell?” Tony says, picking up his tablet from the kitchen counter. He starts typing something, presumably ordering dinner, and Steve comes to stand behind him. 

Wrapping his arms around Tony’s midsection, Steve says, “I’m pretty much a sure thing by now, you know. No romancing required.”

“But you’re getting it anyway,” Tony replies. “A whole night of it.”

Tony finishes with the tablet and sets it down, turning around in Steve’s arms. His own arms come up to wrap around Steve’s neck and pull him down for a kiss. His lips taste like red wine and a hint of something sweet.

“Why?” Steve asks when they break apart. 

“Because you deserve it, and I want to give it to you.” He says it simply, without any pretense, and Steve can’t help but smile.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve it, but thank you."

“You make me happy, that’s what,” Tony answers. Simple again, and Steve's chest feels like it might explode with the sheer volume of affection he has for him. 

He can’t think of the right thing to say, besides the one thing he won’t let himself say, so he doesn’t answer. He just holds Tony a little tighter and kisses him softly.

“Come on,” Tony says, tilting his head towards the living room. “Never did show you that Pollock.”

Steve grins and follows Tony into the living room, where the large painting hangs above the couch. It’s mostly dark lines, intermingled with white and red. Tony leans in close and whispers like a secret, “Honestly, I never understood it.”

Steve whispers back his own confession, “Me neither, but I like it.”

“I mean, it’s just paint splatters, right? Is it wrong to say that anyone could do that? Is that like a crime against artists everywhere?"

Steve laughs, “I think technically it's supposed to be more than that. It’s about the feeling it gives you, the motion you perceive from the lines. Plus, he was the first guy to do the whole abstract expressionism thing, so that counts for something.”

Tony nods slowly, then decides, “I liked Picasso better.”

“I agree.”

Tony takes his hand and leads him to sit beside him on the couch. Multiple candles are lit on the coffee table in front of them, and a glance around the room reveals a few more scattered on various surfaces. Steve raises his eyebrows, “Are the candles part of the romancing?”

“Of course,” Tony smirks. “We’re going the whole nine yards, baby.” 

Steve wants to ask why again, but he knows he wouldn't receive the straight answer, so instead he asks, "So what do the whole nine yards entail?"

"Well," Tony says, shifting his position so his legs are bent over Steve's lap and his hand is propping his head up next to Steve's. "It starts with dinner, which was supposed to be carbonara like on our first date, but will now be Chinese food. A minor setback. Then dessert, which I ordered before you got here because I knew I shouldn’t even try to bake. Then there's a surprise that even your dirtiest French won't be able to get out of me early, and if you're really lucky, we'll probably end up naked by the end of it."

“Kind of feels like a challenge with the French,” Steve says, cocking an eyebrow. “Even though technically the French was never all that dirty.”

“Everything’s dirty when you say it during sex.”

Steve hums in agreement, then Tony changes the subject by saying, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Always,” Steve replies. 

“The last guy you dated,” Tony says. He picks up Steve’s hand, absentmindedly playing with his fingers as he continues, “You said that there was nothing wrong with your relationship, but you didn’t see a future with him.”

“Yeah, I did say that, but that’s not a question.” Steve analyzes Tony’s face, looking for something that might tell him why the topic has come up, but he doesn’t see anything except perhaps too neutral of an expression. 

Tony bites his lip, the only sign that he might be nervous, and looks down at their hands as he asks, “Do you see one with me? I just- I think it might be good to know if we’re on the same page.”

“Tony,” Steve says his name softly, prompting him to look up. “I see everything with you.”

He worries for a split second that he’s revealed too much, or that maybe he should have started with an ‘I love you’ before jumping right to an entire lifetime, but then Tony grins and every trace of doubt fades away. 

“Okay,” Tony stands from the couch, pulling Steve up by the hand. “I don’t want to wait for the surprise. You’re getting it now.”

“You’re really not good at keeping secrets, are you?” Steve laughs as he lets himself be dragged to the elevator.

“Not really, no,” Tony says. Inside the elevator, he presses the button labeled “R” and turns back to Steve. “No point in waiting if the moment’s perfect.”

Steve doesn’t have a clue what Tony’s talking about or what’s made the moment perfect, but before he can ask Tony presses a quick kiss to his lips and says, “You’ll understand in a minute.”

Frigid air hits them as the elevator doors open, leaving them on what Steve can only assume is the roof. He follows Tony out, and he’s left speechless by the sight before him. The space has been transformed into a private oasis, with built-in benches lining the entirety of the glass railing and small shrubs creating an urban garden in the center. Strings of globe lights hang above them, painting everything in gold. A completely unobstructed view of all of Manhattan extends around them for as far as he can see, and while his Brooklyn rooftop might have the best view in the city, this one is definitely a close second. He walks further out, taking it all in.

“I, um,” Tony starts, voice suddenly unsure, and Steve turns to look at him. “I know you already have your place, but I was thinking that maybe it would be nice for us to have our place. Brooklyn’s yours, and I love more than anything that you brought me there, but it should still be yours, because there’s definitely going to be times when you’re going to want that, just being alone. But I thought that maybe if you ever wanted to be alone together, get away from everything with me, then we could do that here.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but Tony says, “Hold on, just one second. This is supposed to be the part where I make the grand gesture and say all the things, okay?”

Steve doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods. Tony comes closer, takes Steve’s hand, and draws in a shaky, deep breath. “Okay, here it goes. Steve, I don’t do this, I’ve never done this or anything even close to this, but you make me want to go all in. I told you on our first date that I’m a lot, that I talk too much and work too much and do a lot of other things that have a tendency to drive people away. I’ve spent a lot of time with all the wrong people, just hoping that someday someone would look at me and make me actually believe that I’m enough, that I’m not too much to handle or have too much baggage. And then you come into my life and tell me that you have faith in me, and I think I was a goner right then and there. You could’ve asked me for anything and it would have been yours. 

“But then you just… kept doing it. You kept surprising me. You let me barge into your living room and list all the reasons you shouldn’t date me, and then you stayed anyway. You watch romantic comedies like it’s your religion, and then you tell me that I’m your happy ending and it knocks the wind right out of me. I can tell you things that no one else in the world knows about, and I don’t even question it for a second. And I hope that you feel the same way about me, that you really do see everything with me, because there’s absolutely no one else I want to have everything with. No matter what happens. You’re it for me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Steve, and I guess that this is all one really long winded way of telling you that I’m in love with you. I don't want to spend another day not saying it. I love you, even if it scares me to admit it."

Steve can’t think of a single thing to say. Tony’s stolen every thought from his mind with every perfect word. In Steve’s stunned silence, Tony rambles on, “Unless of course you hate it, then we can just pretend -”

Steve cuts him off, kissing him in place of all the things he can’t think clearly enough to say. He kisses him until they’re breathless, until he absolutely can’t kiss him anymore. 

“So you don’t hate it?” Tony whispers, more of a statement than a question.

“No,” Steve laughs, holding Tony by the waist and keeping him as close as possible. “I love it. So much. It’s perfect, and there aren’t even words to tell you how much this means to me, that you would do all this. I love you, Tony.” 

Tony smiles at him, brown eyes made golden by the light, and Steve knows that of all the sights around them, that’s the best one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! Chapter title is a reference to Daylight by Taylor Swift.
> 
> If anyone wants to, you can find me on Tumblr @ifmywishescametrue and I'd be happy to chat!
> 
> Also, there's a sequel to this now! Don't forget to subscribe to the series if you want updates :)


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